


Bonnie and Clyde

by Questions3



Series: Fuzzy Footed Foolishness [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Actual Thief Bilbo, BAMF Bilbo, F/M, Female Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 85,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questions3/pseuds/Questions3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Bilbo was actually a classically trained thief? And go!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightshade

**Author's Note:**

> This will be following the book/movies through the quest, subsequent one-shots will accompany as prequels and sequels whenever the muse hits me in the head with a skillet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... I'll be honest, I'm shocked people are still waiting for this. I'll say I'm sorry for taking so log for posting and updating. I had life happen and bad shit and the whole shebang. Even now that stuff is settling I can't guarantee this will be finished but I can say that I have heavily edited all the chapters I posted and finished the Rivendall chapter which is a fuckin' fanfiction in and of itself. There's also a bunch of other random oneshots in this verse and my other stuff I'll be posting soon so I hope y'all who are still sticking around continue to enjoy.

            Not many were out this late in the night during one of the coldest eves of the year. Winter was a harsh bitch, harsher to those outside the strong embrace of the Blue Mountains, but that was hardly a comfort when its grasping icy winds whistled through the cracks in the sanctuary. Abandoned as the night was, there were few to none privy to the sudden upheaval spilling from the Sapphire halls and flowing out into the Copper Trade Streets (whose shady dealings had likewise tipped its hat to the chill). City Guards were clanking and shouting their way through the ‘black market,’ shoving their way into half hidden alleys and dark corners, poking at the shades and night with lance and hammers. Fiercest warriors in the land, these were firm and upstanding dwarrow who could pin a thief in their tracks with a well leveled glare.

            Fortunately for a small inkblot, racing over the ledges and roofs of some of the firmer standing establishments in the thief’s district, they were hampered by a lack of imagination and weight. The shadowed figure fell to its knees in a particularly narrow alley, staying crouched as it heeded booted feet running by, hood turned slightly to the left listening for any returns or clunky pursuers entering the dark fissure in the stone. Though it would be something to see those bulky guards make their way down such a narrow fracture, she had barely managed it herself, not near as encumbered by hard muscle and armor as her pursuers. So intent on what had been chasing her there was barely time to react to what was sneaking up from behind. With a cramped leap and swirl, the cloaked one disarmed the somehow smaller attacker, and looked up from as defensive a stance one could manage in less than a breath of space, just to see a familiar cheeky grin.

            “Well Mum, you’ve really done it this time. How exactly do you intend for us to vacate the Mountain with the _entire_ Royal Guard on our tails?” A wide smile set into a round face, framed by a cascade of black ringlets stared at the rising form. Gloved hands on hips not yet fully grown but rounding nicely as the youth drew closer to the transformation from gangly child to full figured Hobbit.

            The taller figure removed her own hood, the better to see those big beautiful amber eyes, the only obvious addition from her father, though Belladonna would claim the girl’s pixie nose and sharper tipped ears were all her Bungo. Deep blue, almost purple, eyes smiled in a twin face, save for the lines that depicted age and, Bella would argue fiercely with her mother-in-law, wisdom, as the mother returned the disarmed dagger to her young one and wrapped her arm around the slighter shoulders, “Well I had some thoughts on that. Perhaps we could bother that charming little friend of yours. What’s the dwarf’s name? Mori? You know the one that looks like a star and keeps trying to lay his hands on what’s still mine for at least another six years.”

            At her mother’s wry tone the little Bilbo blushed a deep red remembering the forward creature and the row he’d gotten into with Belladonna that first time they’d crossed paths. But as they’d continued to ride the same circuits mother had seemed to cool off towards the lad as she noticed his advances weren’t completely unwanted by her little snapdragon. He’d just have to wait till a proper bloom was on her daughter instead of a fresh bud. That didn’t mean she couldn’t teach her wee one how to make use of her feminine appeal along the way, however, and at the same time teach her the benefits of a swift knee jerk. Theirs was a rough business after all, for all it was the family business.

***

            Belladonna Baggins mourned her husband for the rest of her life, the entire 12 years it took for her little Bilbo to grow into an adult. At the tender age of 21 the lass was hardly able to care for herself, not in the face of so many ‘well meaning’ relations. _Belladonna_ almost hadn’t been able to handle the sudden influx of sympathies and grievers, and she’d never been one to wilt in the face of adversity. The family that came out of the woodwork, insisting she and her daughter pack up and give this big, lonely, memory filled smial to another larger family (like themselves perhaps?) and go find someplace new to start over. Or perhaps go back to her own Tooks in Tuckborough, she’d have all the support she’d need surrounded by family and her sweet little lass would have all those cousins to occupy her time with. Honestly it was in their best interest, and really it was just wasteful for two lassies to occupy this place alone, just disgraceful, completely unHobbit if you asked so and so.

            It was disgusting. And that was just the greedy; there were also the lustful and the manipulative to contend with. Old suitors, spurned previously for reasons even _before_ her affections had sank their claws into Bungo Baggins. The supposed genteel hobbit males who were just ‘checking in’ on Bella and my how lovely she was even in grief, and how beautifully her little Bilbo was growing. It had taken her all of ten seconds and one too many glances in her daughter’s direction before she was chasing any number of enthused suitors from her home with some of her finer silver, being the better balanced of her cutlery.

            After disbanding the last letch the exhausted Took-Baggins sank into her chair by the fire and glanced at her little girl. Bilbo was all her mother, with long dark curls that ran wild more often than they stayed tame, too big lips in a plump face that she’d eventually grow into and would take on more lush than large and soft than chubby. It would be a year or two yet, but her gangly limbs were already showing hints of fleshing out and firming up. She was a child on the cusp of womanhood, though at the moment she looked more like a half drowned cat. Her big bright amber eyes, all her father, were dark with listlessness and loss, those riotous black curls were lank from too many half hearted washings, leaving too much grease behind, and tangled from the carelessness of indifferent brushing. Bilbo’d loved her father and he’d doted on his little peach blossom. Bella’s snapdragon was ashen as she sat there in her father’s old armchair, staring in the fire blankly. The glow of life and love that had been there but weeks ago was buried in sallow grief and a gaunt, haunted expression. Some weight loss was showing from the obvious lack of appetite and sleep that staunched the growing lass. And that was killing Belladonna almost as surely as grief was. Her little spitfire was supposed to be flushed with life and excitement as she ran around the Shire, beating up the neighborhood boys and looking for Elves in the woods. Not fading into the shadows of her father’s end. It’s not what Bella wanted for her daughter and it wasn’t what Bungo had wanted for her either.

            With a silent prayer for him to wait for her just a bit longer Belladonna Baggins snapped up to her feet and grasped her little one. She’d take some of those nosey, odious neighbors’ advice after all. She’d take herself and Bilbo home, to Tuckborough. It was just in time for the first six months of a three-year training season. By the time Bilbo had celebrated her twenty-fourth birthday she had muscle to tone the growing curves of her forming body and skills best left to the darkness of shadow and night. Together, mother and daughter would go off for ‘extended holidays,’ no more than a few months at a time, though there was one that extended for nearly nine and had seen Belladonna chasing the vulture’s that were her Baggins relations off her property with a recently acquired pig sticker, or so she termed the dwarvish spear. They traveled the lands to the East, West, North and South, making friends and enemies as they went, though they were rarely known for what or who they really were. Bella and Bilbo became shadowy enigma that struck in the night and left behind embarrassment and empty coffers.

In the underworld they were known by a single alias they shared as one, Nightshade. Both thought it delightfully improper as they continued to add to their trophy room at Bagend. A spear from the Iron Hills, a necklace from the Blue Mountains, crowns and diadems from the courts of Men and Elves. It was rare they took commissioned work, mostly doing what they felt for fun or revenge, after a fashion, and even when they did take a job it was normally pro bono and came from a certain Grey Wizard. The pair made quite a living from their exploits, always returning to Bagend to recuperate and ground themselves once more in the home they’d shared with their Bungo. And if there were times Bella thought perhaps he’d be disappointed in how she’d raised their daughter, she merely had to look to the bloom of pride and happiness in her faunt’s cheeks to know it was the only thing she could have done, and that he’d be happier knowing their Bilbo was happy, rather than strictly proper.

It was a twelve-year whirlwind for the mother and daughter, but it had to end. The last few months leading to Bilbo’s thirty-third birthday found Belladonna on near constant bed rest. The lass cared for her mother as best she could, calling healer after healer, even having the Elves of Rivendell diagnose her mama. They all said the same thing; Belladonna was fading from a deep heartbreak, one that should have ended her years earlier. The day before her birthday found the soon to be adult in her mother’s arms in her parents old bed as Belladonna shushed her little one and clutched her close through the night.

            She seemed to rally the next day; Bilbo found her cooking up a storm for their private celebration. A tradition of breakfast followed by a day of training and reading, till finally they slept by the fire that night. Bella in her chair, Bilbo in Bungo’s, they finished off some dwarrow whiskey they’d filched years ago from a Firebeard who’d tried to stiff the pair on a trip because of their sex. With fire in her belly and love in her heart, calm in the knowledge her snapdragon would survive her, Belladonna breathed a last sigh and found her way back to her Bungo. She’d have a lot to answer for but she was confident he’d eventually be convinced to see it her way.


	2. At Your Service?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't you hate it when old boyfriends just come dropping in at random?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't mean to keep abusing Kíli, he's one of my favorites. Unfortunately I'm an abusive friend and fan.

            It had been almost ten years since she’d last seen that grey tipped hat making its way up Bagshot Row. And that hadn’t ended any better than she imagined this would. Rising to her furry feet as she tapped out her pipe against her little bench, Bilbo waited for Gandalf the Grey to come to a stop in front of her gate. His smile was benign and fond amusement flashed through him as he saw the little hobbit lass standing there in a rather drab brown frock with her arms crossed firmly over her cream blouse. Black curls were strangled in a tight knot at the top of her head and generous mouth was stretched thin as she narrowed heated amber eyes at him, “Good morning, Gandalf. What do you want?”

            “And what do you mean by that I wonder? Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on? Really, dear girl, you should strive to be more forthright,” the slick devil knew exactly what he was doing as the lass quirked a brow and tried to maintain her stern demeanor.

            It wasn’t that she found Gandalf particularly amusing, but he was one of her oldest friends, and her mother’s before her, as such he maintained residence in a rather soft spot in her heart. He just enjoyed exploiting it every now and again in some of the most embarrassing and dangerous manners. And yes it was almost always both in equal measure. So her response was well deserved as she continued to stare the ridiculous Pilgrim down, “All at once of course, and now that you’ve had your fun why not tell me what exactly it is you’re after here? Perhaps, if it’s nothing too heinous, I’ll even invite you in for a cuppa. If it is too heinous I reserve the right to snatch your staff and beat you upside the head with it. I still haven’t forgiven you for that foray into the Misty Mountains.”

            It was guilt that had a rather bashful expression flittering across the wizard’s face as he replied calmly, “My dear Bilbo, I could hardly have known about that nonsense with the water beforehand now could I?” An intensified glare was all his answer. Sighing he continued nonetheless, “I’m looking for someone to go on an adventure.”

            “Last time you said anything about an [adventure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1051004) I found myself being chased out of a rather bleak looking forest by an army of Elves,” more glaring.

            “Well I can guarantee there will be no Elves on this outing… at least not intentionally,” the wizened old fool was looking at her with the most ridiculous innocent façade, as though she hadn’t known him her whole life.

            Shaking her head Bilbo waved to her old friend and walked back towards her door, “I’m sorry Gandalf, I’ll not be going on any such adventures this day. Perhaps you’ll have better luck with some of my numerous cousins? They’ve all a death wish or three to hand out as it were. If you’re in the neighborhood before you leave, however, you’re welcome to stop by for tea. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a few chores to see to. Good morning.”

            “To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's daughter, as if I was selling buttons at the door!” the crotchety old man grumbled as she opened the smial’s green door.

            In parting she turned and smiled at him in a cheeky manner she’d inherited directly from said mother, “Yes, and wouldn’t she have been marvelous proud of me, in fact?” before slamming the door.

            Gandalf let loose a soft snort before mumbling to himself under his breath, as he walked up to the round portal and carved the rune for his fellows to find later that night, “Yes my girl, I do believe she would be. Even so I’ll be sending you on this adventure, very amusing for me, very good for you. And profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it.” With his goal complete he was off, right back up Bagshot to collect some rather errant dwarrow.

***

            “Dwalin son of – ” the slamming of the circular green door was almost as shocking as seeing a wee lass on the other side of it clearly dressed for bed. Not that he’d gotten that much of a look, the door was shut before he’d even fully registered she was in fact a she. It was only Balin’s constant nagging that had instilled the amount of consideration in him to introduce himself. So now, there he stood, Dwalin son of Fundin, Royal Guardsman, outside a hole in the ground, waiting for the rest of his allies to come, however many that would be. As he wasn’t exactly big on scaring little hobbit lasses any more than strictly required, he grumbled to himself as he leaned against the doorframe, and waited.

            Bilbo, quite on the other hand, wasn’t taking Dwalin’s presence as serenely. She slammed the door and bolted it before practically flying into her own room and barring that one too, this one endowed with some hefty dwarf locks her mother had commissioned when they’d began to branch out in their exploits towards the Blue Mountains. Once there, she was running around, throwing odds and ends in a travel pack as she stumbled about in her knickers, dragging a shirt and vest on, her legs getting tangled in her pants. It wasn’t till she heard the second knock at the front door that she realized Dwalin, son of Fundin, Royal Guard of the Blue Mountains, hadn’t, in fact, burst into her smial to arrest her. Taking a deep breath for calm, she unlocked her bedroom door, and slowly glanced around the frame out into the hall, to see the still solidly standing green front door in the distance. Assured of her entrance’s continued perseverance she, with a similar exaggerated caution, moved to the front.

            It wasn’t long before his brother’s red finery could be distinguished coming up the road. “Brother!” came Balin’s voice on the calm night’s air as he drew next to his kin.

            Dwalin’s smile was something fierce as he greeted the white haired dwarf with a smash to the head, “You’ve gotten fatter… and shorter.”

            A slight narrowing of watery blue eyes and a small scowl were all he got for the bait, “Wider, yes, not shorter. And sharp enough for the both of us, I daresay. What are you doing out here brother? Have you managed to scare the Halfling already?” the advisor asked disapprovingly as he made his way towards the smial’s entrance. These hobbits were a curious lot, for all they were mostly a sensible size and lived in the earth. It was much too close to the surface for his taste, though, living in holes and with all this green about them. It was quite a peaceful looking life, he’d admit. But he couldn’t help but to wonder how long it would take before his kind would go soft in the head with nothing to stimulate their senses but pipeweed and sunshine.

            “Not my fault the wizard’s been lyin’ to us again,” Dwalin grumbled, not at all happy with Tharkûn’s involvement in this quest, but he wouldn’t reveal anything further; more interested in how Balin would handle the situation they found themselves in. Dwarrow were very protective of womenfolk in general, being so rare, little less then a third of their population, and Dwalin’s rearing hadn’t allowed him to do anything less than appreciate them as both fierce but precious. He wasn’t keen on upsetting this one again, especially if she turned out to be related to their intended ‘burglar’ in one fashion or another. It wouldn’t do to anger the bugger before they’d actually talked to him. Even he had the wits for that much diplomacy.

            Balin knocked on the door, understanding there was some kind of mix up but fully believing his brother’s gruff attitude was probably what had him sitting out on the porch. To say he was shocked when the tiniest little lassie with a massive tangle of black curls answered the door, bearing a snarl and a rather large spear (dwarven in origin by make and rune work), would be an understatement. “What do you want?!”

            Schooling his expression into something more apologetic and approachable, Balin asked, diplomatically as you please, “I’m terribly sorry if my brother has caused you a fright lass. We were told this was the home of one Bilbo Baggins. Would you happen to know where he is?”

            With a narrowing of amber eyes, the lass looked back and forth between the two dwarrow, glaring harder at Dwalin where he’d tensed at the sight of the spear. Nodding cautiously the tiny hobbit answered, “You’re in the right place. What is it you want?”

            Smiling all the wider for that small victory he continued, “Well if you could just inform Master Baggins that friends of Gandalf have arrived, I’m sure he’ll know what’s to be done.”

            The lass huffed a little air through her nose in a delicate snort. Suddenly, the spear wasn’t pointing at him, but rather, being used as a post to lean against as she observed them another second, mouth turned down in a somewhat forced scowl, “So this is about Gandalf’s ‘adventure’ then? And neither of you have ever heard of or seen Bilbo Baggins before?” The confusion on the dwarrow was palpable as she watched them shake their heads in the negative. Sighing, Bilbo stepped out of the way and gestured them into her smial. As the two crossed into the foyer she placed the spear back into the wall holster her mother had had made, right above the twin daggers Bilbo’d nicked from an Elf princeling years back. (On the hobbit they seemed a rather sturdy set of butterfly swords, fully capable of being secreted up her sleeves, as was her wont. On the elfling they’d probably been something more akin to push daggers or ornate cutlery as Belladonna had weighed in disparagingly) The smial was riddled with trinkets from their journeys, though a majority of their take was still well sealed in the little trophy room under the floorboards in her parent’s room. Mother had always said the best place to hide was in plain sight and these kept her close, in a way, keeping Bella in every part of their home. “Make yourselves comfortable, I wasn’t anticipating company but there’s certainly food aplenty. I imagine Gandalf will make himself known sooner or later. Till then welcome to Bagend, and if you would please just call me Bilbo, I’ve no use for titles.” With that she marched into the pantry to find something swift to cook for her guests. “Are there many more of you coming?”

            Dwalin would have laughed at the suddenly gob smacked expression on his brother’s face if he weren’t doing his own impression of a landed fish before having a bit of a time controlling his sudden rage. It wasn’t that females were viewed any less competent than males in their culture. Hell, Dís was only allowing herself to be left back at the Blue Mountains because _someone_ needed to reign in her brother’s absence, and those damned blue-blooded fools on the council were only given their positions because they exceled at bleating about the mountain like lost sheep. But they were a bit in demand, and the idea of a gentle hobbit coming on this venture was already bad enough without making it a wee girl child. The lass behind the door didn’t look like anything short of a bairn with her soft face, wide eyes and tiny hands that barely managed to encircle that spear she’d been brandishing, for all that she’d held the weapon in a right solid stance. Though the way she filled the loose white shirt led the guard to adjust some of his suppositions on her majority. The way the brightly decorated yellow vest cinched at the wealthily plump middle emphasized even more bounty at the top of the wee thing’s torso, and round rolling hips were tightly encased in plush green cotton half trou. But even if maturity were no longer up for debate she was clearly a soft thing and wasn’t suited to life outside her home. Neither sons of Fundin understood what the blasted wizard could have been thinking.

            Before either could right themselves to answer the tiny woman as she wandered from the pantry to the kitchen, arms laden with food each time she went, there was another knock at the door. The lass bustled to it and opened it wide to see the princelings standing there in all their mischievous glory, “Fíli.”

            “And Kíli.”

            They stomped their twin sets of feet and bowed deeply to the lass, and for a brief shining moment Balin was quite proud of his youngest pupils. Then they opened their mouths and Dwalin snorted at their unison bumbling, “At your service Mr. Boggins.”

            Bilbo merely arched her brow and watched the lads come up smiling, and then watched harder as the smiles fell into confusion and the lads glanced to their fellow dwarrow and long time tutor for answers. The silver dwarf looked to his brother before shrugging in their direction, “This is _Miss Baggins_ lads, our, um, hostess.”

            Fíli’s eyes grew huge, as he blatantly looked the lass up and down, pausing at certain points (really, save for the clear lack of skin, it was almost indecent the way her clothes burst with her feminine attributes), eyes growing even wider as he went. Kíli just laughed like this was all a grand joke as he moved in closer to the lass and shuffled her curly black hair, “Very funny Balin. Now where’s your mum and da little one?”

            Bilbo blinked up at the dwarf who was sure as she was middle aged barely in his majority. Scowling up at the grinning face she sent a toothy smile to the boy as she grabbed his hand and twisted it up and around his back. The yelp was thoroughly satisfying, “They’re dead, Master Dwarf. Now if you’d be so kind as to _not_ touch me, and _you_ stop _staring_ at me. I’ll be in the kitchen preparing dinner. Master’s Dwalin, and… Balin was it? Please begin moving the tables from storage, right down _that_ hall and to the left, into the dinning room, it appears there will be a number of you this eve.” And just as swiftly as she’d grasped him she released the stunned child and stalked back into the kitchens. Pots and pans clanged as she took her frustrated indignation out on her flatware.

           “Come on ye pair of grass-brained troll-bait,” Dwalin growled as he grabbed up each boy by the nape of the neck, ignoring their whining protest, and the four ushered forth to ready the dining room. As they bustled about in the other rooms the bell rang once more. Striding to the door Bilbo cringed only a little when a distressing bang was heard followed by a high-pitched yelp from one of the lads. With a sigh and a firm look on her face (if this was that damn wizard he was going to get more than just a _piece_ of her mind) she flung the door open, and found herself at the bottom of a pile of dwarf flesh. She supposed it was actually a good thing her breath had been stolen by the weight of entirely too many dwarrow (one of them the size of a small pony), for had she had any to spare she’d have ended her years of secrets in the moment she realized the dwarf that had landed right on top of her (and had subsequently cradled her tiny body from a majority of the weight) was none other than [Nori](http://archiveofourown.org/works/999685), her chiefest example of youthful indiscretion.


	3. Only Sensible Thing To Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! Thorin's here! She loves Thorin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't supposed to exist, it wasn't in the original outline. I don't know what to say other than damnit.

            She imagined this must be some form of punishment from Mahal himself for taking so many of his children for fools all those years ago in the Blue Mountains.

            “Oh for the love of – Those are my mother’s _plates!_ ” she growled as she tried to swipe at her mother’s West Farthing, only to be turned about and slam the back of her fist into the head of one of the younger lads with a snarl, “You’re _much_ too young for _that_ wine mister! Go to the second shelf for the watered ale. There’s a lad.” There was a moment of wounded brown eyes but when that was only met with a shrewd raise of her left brow he shrugged and tossed her the barrel of Brandyvine. This would be the second time that night she found herself below something ungainly and substantial. At least she wasn’t likely to be goosed by the damn cask. She’d narrowed the culprit down to Nori or Bofur. The former suspect for his clear appreciation of her bounteous curves (that traveling eye sending a rush of all too familiar red to her cheeks as he practically lifted her into his arms off the floor) and the latter because that damn miner was never one to comprehend that which bound polite company.

            Just as she was contemplating possibly drowning herself in the case she gained a much swifter relief as Dori turned up with a polite, “Ah, I was hoping there would be something with a bit more refinement,” and hauled the batch off her. He left her winded and sprawled, but the new vantage allowed her to choke out a wheezing “Tad excessive, innit? Cheese knife?” as Bombur bowled by with something like five wheels of her ageing cheeses.

            “Cheese knife? He eats it by the block,” came the cheery voice of one hatted menace. With that same charming smile that had probably broken hearts all through the Blue Mountains, Bofur reached down and helped Bilbo gain her feet. And just in time to see the dwarf with the fire red hair and the one who seemed deaf and addled walk by with some of her heirloom chairs.

            She probably wouldn’t have had the spirit to raise her voice and admonish them even if she’d had the breath, so she contented herself with a half hearted nod and a rueful expression as she informed Bofur, “That’s Grampa Mungo’s chair you know,” she hoped that wheezing wasn’t a sign of a rib in the lungs, “An antique.”

            The dwarf watched as his associates walked past, keeping a firm hold of the tiny winded thing as he did, “Quite a roomy fellow your Granda for Óin ta fit.”

            With a tiny nod and a half smile Bilbo acknowledged, “The old boy did have a fondness for pie.” Before Bofur could comment that he was in danger of developing a fondness for the same after wolfing down the one he’d found cooling in her window (one she’d made for her Gaffer as it was) he was forced into a bend by a surprisingly strong grip to the neck. In the next moment he was up again as the lass had apparently snapped up a rather ornate feather quill and sent it tip first into Fíli’s head, “That’s a _book_ , not a _coaster_! You’ll respect it even if you _can’t_ read from it.” The golden prince was rubbing at his slowly bleeding head wound and holding his cup well above the tome, his brother off to the side laughing as he pawed at some odds and ends on the table. The young Kíli soon left off the desk and its workings, however, once he caught the baleful glare on their tiny hostess as she growled, “Put that map down, _thank you_!”

            With nary a beat the lassie turned back to the bemused miner and grinned as she gave a small sigh, “You were saying Master Bofur?”

            With that the lad was helpless to do anything more than laugh uproariously and wrap an arm about the lass to lead her to the festivities.

***

            As far as bad ideas went, letting the sons of Fundin into her home ranked up there in her top five. Not as bad as letting the wizard convince her grave robbing could be a fun preoccupation, but not as redeemable as taking on her own apprentice. Actually, this seemed to be idling right about the level of cut the braid off a sleeping dwarf lord and run like hell. The only positive she’d had from either that event or her current situation was meeting a rather nice family of dwarrow [miners](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1012308). Same family both times so she definitely knew someone somewhere was hacking up a lung at her expense. She hoped they choked, she wasn’t finding anything about this remotely _funny_.

            You’d think, in her line of work, she’d have encountered this scenario before; meeting someone twice that is, as two different people. As it turned out, no, that was just the result of bad planning, and as she told Lobelia time and time again bad planning does not make for good thieving, just dead thieves. And now, here she found herself as, apparently, every bad decision she’d ever made had come back to haunt her in the flesh. Bilbo was settled at the table, idly chatting with Bofur as he launched food at his younger brother from across the way. He’d been the only dwarf polite enough to engage their host in conversation (besides the lads, but that was before she’d tried stabbing Fíli, as it turned out the blonde was called, for stomping across her table. Now they seemed to be content to mope into their ale at the other end). She’d met Bofur before and found him to be a riot; he and Bifur had gotten her out of a dangerous little run-in with Dwalin (who had just poured half his own ale into the deaf dwarf’s ear horn! Preserve her from the bawdiness of dwarrow) and she’d made it a habit of returning every so often to visit when she was on a job. Of course, that had been fifteen bloody years ago. She’d seen none of her dwarrow friendlies for a decade and a half now and hadn’t actually intended to ever again. Especially not as Bilbo Baggins of Bagend!

            “Here lass!” Bofur announced as he handed her a mug of ale rather suddenly. With a wink he announced, “On the count of three!” and tapped their cups together before he leaned into the table to repeat with the rest of the ‘merry’ gathering.

            She tried to keep a straight, slightly disapproving look as she told her friend in no uncertain terms, “This is the height of impropriety.”

            “ONE!” Bofur called out, eyes glittering in what she supposed was the remnants of a goodly amount of her stronger ale.

            “Really, not proper hobbit behavior at all,” she persisted, mouth twitching into a loose grin.

            “TWO!” Kíli announced sloppily, some food falling from his slightly slack mouth. It seemed she’d been right about the lad not holding his damn liquor.

            Her mother’s favored cheeky grin conquered her Baggins sensibilities, as it was wont, and Bilbo slammed a hand into the drenched table with a cheery cry of “THREE!” sending them off into a drinking skirmish.

            Sad to say she was fourth in the lineup, but then, she also didn’t spill half her share into her own lap as it were. She deserved an honorable mention, surely! Or so she was arguing Bofur when Nori began what appeared to be a time-honored wright of turbid behavior among the dwarrow nation. The thief belched his winnings into the atmosphere, followed by a progression of louder and louder appreciation until it ended with young Ori shaking the damn rafters.

            And with that loud overture Bilbo came back to herself with a shake. What in the name of Arda was this rag tag team of misfits _doing_ here? There was little [Ori](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1029160), chugging pint after pint, once again trying to prove himself to all of sundry for no damn reason. The lad had always had a shy disposition and an inferiority complex, even when she’d known him. It didn’t look as though much had changed, not even his sense of adventure, otherwise he’d bloody well be at home with his books like a good lad should! But in all her association with the lad it was always Dori that ensured just that behavior. Yet there was the elder Ri clucking over his youngest brother’s horrible display in _her_ home. Dori who’d never set hide or hair out of his Mountains after they’d finally settled there, or so she’d been told. He was one of the few new faces there that eve. Who’d been content to run his tiny shop, and then more than happy when he’d advanced to a far more prestigious position in his Merchants Guild. One that allowed him to afford the niceties he’d always had a fondness for without relying on his middle brother’s more covert dealings.

            By rights this lot shouldn’t have anything to do with the Ur family. She could see their connections with the guardsman. [Dwalin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1011717) who was by his brother now, the pair bent over arguing about something or other that seemed to involve their hostess as they had the stealthy habit of glaring at her during the conversation. Bilbo’s experiences with the guard were best left buried. Most of the bad ideas on her top ten lists ended with that particular son of Fundin chasing her off the Blue Mountains. She imagined his second favorite hobby was chasing Nori out of those self same halls. His first being locking the lad up in their dungeons seeing as that was what he’d been doing the first time she’d met the previously mohawked guard. But beyond the less than civil arrangement the Ri’s had with the Royal Guard, there was little else advising their jointure to the Shire of all places. True, Ori was apprenticed in the Scholar’s Guild to a Master Balin, whom Bilbo assumed was the self same one at her table, but even still, to socially be engaging with the posh dwarf in these Green Lands was ridiculously forward as far as class concerns went. And it truly bore repeating that _none of them_ should be there with the Urs!

            Bifur was an old time warrior from one of the great dwarf battles but hardly of the same caliber as Dwalin. The Royal Guard had ties to the direct line of Durin and was elevated to a station of warrior that fell to time honored traditions and training. He’d probably been _born_ with those axes strapped to his back. As far as she could gather from her time with the Urs the only reason Bifur’d even been to battle was some diluted loyalty he and his family had owed the Durin line, but they were a handful among _thousands_. A child of miners, who were the backbone of the dwarrow society but far from prestigious, especially since their exile where most were out of work and left to starve. Yet here they were. The addled tinkerer, love him, had taken one look at her when she’d settled by his cousin, huffed a breath and wandered to sit over by the keg. What the hell that meant was anybody’s guess, but she took it to mean he didn’t see her as a threat to his family and continued to listen to Bofur’s litany of all the beers they’d found in Bree, which was certainly not a pastime to refer him to the higher class she was entertaining at the mo’. Bombur was a jolly dwarf when being fed, certainly, but his tastes didn’t run in the refined areas Dori occupied. So unless she was missing some very nuanced dwarrow queue (which with their _ridiculously_ secretive selves it wasn’t _completely_ improbable), there was no rhyme or reason for so many previous acquaintances to be occupying her smial simultaneously.

            And with that in mind, she was off to find Gandalf and give him a piece of her own, and shear the pertinent information from his beard if she must.

***

            The petite lass stomped towards Tharkûn as the dwarrow began to wind down a bit. It only took a moment before the old man rose to his height and followed the heated little thing out of the room. Her face was an open display of disapproval, wild hair almost bristling like some insulted feline as she went past. Surprisingly, something resembling concern tempered the malice while she tugged on the Grey Pilgrim’s beard as they went.

            Nori was actually quite taken aback by that display, not many could get away with such a handsy manner when addressing the Istari… he actually couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be turned into something slimy had they attempted what their hostess had just done. But the Large One seemed almost contrite, as he’d gone with the expressive creature. How did that crazy old bat think something so open could be a Burglar of all things? She’d been running about clucking like a chicken after his fellows, arguing heatedly about trinkets and heirlooms the entire time her home was being sacked. Not once had she raised a hand to defend her sanctum from the intruding forces, not even really raised her voice beyond a caliber necessary to be heard by the dwarf standing just in her way.

            Though he’d been impressed by some of the odds and ends hanging about her walls. Some rather impressive weaponry even, but they seemed to have met their sadly early retirement, relegated as mere decoration, never mind what the Fundin sons had said about their greeting. He highly doubted the plump piece could do more than shake that overlarge pig-sticker. Meant for dust not dander. Not that there was an inch of dust in the place, clearly well kept and painstakingly cared for. Homey little hole for a homey little creature who’d taken clear umbrage at their less than mannerly ode to her fine feast.

            A shame, that. She was quite a pretty thing when she was relaxin’ and gigglin’ with the miner lad before ire had reared once more and clouded the bright honey eyes. But that was exactly his point then wasn’t it? Her every thought was viciously projected from eyes and face, there was no guile to her at all. The honest didn’t exist in his profession. And the Melekûnh[1] didn’t exist outside of the Shire!

            When he’d heard their destination was these Green Hills he’d been baffled, asking Dori every few paces while they traveled if he’d actually heard right. By the time they’d hit the East Road they’d stumbled upon the mining family and it had been made clear the lot were actually either really supposed to find a Burglar in Hobbiton, or they were all together terribly lost. Neither option bode well for the onset of this death trap of a mission but either way he’d anticipated a good laugh. And when they’d stumbled upon Tharkûn at their destination he’d been curious over what he’d apparently missed when traveling through the Shireling’s lands.

            As near as he’d been able to tell from the interactions he’d had with the Halflings they weren’t wont to travel. Aye, he’d never actually come across one further than Bree (though that lot were a right sociable bunch). Most were very ill at ease among strangers and outsiders. Not unpleasant but not friendly either. So he’d imagined they’d be stumbling into some poor creature that would spend most of the night tremblin’ and pissin’ in a corner, dwarrow being a good bit rowdier than anything the insular community would be used to.

            He hadn’t been wrong, it seemed. The tiny lass had instantly began chasing his kin around, demanding they put back tomatoes and jams, have a care with those chairs and plates. A pinched and pained expression was riding the chubby cheeks, as she squirmed in their wake, not that there was anything wrong with her cheeks mind. He’d investigated a rather plump pair before he’d introduced himself when he’d set the lass on her feet earlier. There really wasn’t much about the looks in the lass to be found wanting. She was a fine bounty as she ran to and fro in those tight half trousers and cinched yellow silk. Not many dwarrowdams were bred to accommodate such abundance; they tended to be as muscled and hard as their male counterparts, very stunning and fierce ladies, easily meeting and making demands of their partners. Nori’d had quite pleasurable and _intense_ congress of his own before. He’d had a few romps with the odd Lady of Men or Elf Maiden as well, both a bit too fragile for his tastes, still, there was something to be said for such _long_ legs…And though he wasn’t thinking the silly little female would be of any use to them in the Wilds (never mind what they’d really intended for the wee thing) he was becoming more intrigued with… expanding his palate as it were.

            He was wondering if that plump personage would be more open to a wee rougher ride as he began sopping up a spill with some holey rag he’d snagged up. What lurid display would be wrought by more intimate ministrations? Cheeks had all but glowed and those gold eyes had near engulfed the rest with his light little greeting. What other kinds of expression could be fashioned from their tiny hostess?

            A delicate hand reached out and snatched the dingy rag from his grasp as the hobbit walked past him, “Excuse me, that’s a doily, not a dishcloth!” plump arse undulating as she padded by.

            And if that wasn’t curious to say the least, Nori mused as he half listened to the exchange between hobbit and miner. Nori wasn’t being the least bit cocky when he said it was damn near impossible to sneak up on him. Half the time the difference between a knife in the back and a clean getaway was one’s ability to track the movements within an area, something Nori took very seriously. Just because he was in the Shire didn’t make him any less alert. At any given moment he could have told anyone the Round One was working on the remaining rinds of the fourth cheese wheel, the Princes were trying to drain the last dregs from the kegs, the sons of Fundin fluttered about with Tharkûn waiting for their leader’s appearance in the hall, Dori was trying to chat with Gróin sons (rather uselessly if he’d been asked, the one was deaf as a board the other made halfwit by his ardent passions for his own wife) while Damn Scary grunted into the greens he’d absconded with and Chuckles was still chatting up the hobbit lass, all the while Ori made his way into the room from the hall. And he’d been aware of every movement through the burrow this eve… save the sudden appearance of their soft-footed little friend here. She’d been on him before he’d even heard a breath escape her, and scurried off with something that had been on _his person_ mere moments before like this was some normal occurrence. Now she stood in front of the prospector with a jaunty tip to the hip and a quivering lip as she tried to hide amusement in that hobbit propriety she’d been displaying all evening.

            Curious little creature after all then…

***

            Mutable eyes were tracking her movements all through that ghastly song as her soon to be _dead_ friends bounced and tossed and clattered every platter until _she’d_ damn near shattered. It was unnerving as anything else that had happened this eve but somehow it was tipping her scales into full on panic. She was having a time maintaining even her annoyance as something inside her started screaming to run, get away, she was trapped. If it hadn’t been for Nori she’d have been completely at ease and slid back into the easy enjoyment she’d managed with Bofur beforehand. Her aside with Gandalf hadn’t been in any way enlightening but she was sure the gig would be up before the night was over… she was patient… she could wait. But that same bastard laughing at her somewhere in Arda was gleefully dancing a jig as her fellow thief had been sizing her up since hauling her off the floor. At first she’d been able to pass it off as his usual lascivious nature, especially as he’d flashed that sinful smile of his at her before prancing off to his brothers or guzzling more ale. She’d almost convinced herself she was the only one who remembered the feel of those very skillful hands on her person, and those arms cushioned around her body. But not more than a moment ago that sultry measure had transformed into something far too calculating for her tastes.

            Her only saving grace was he’d never seen her face or feet. She knew he’d thought she was a dwarrowdam when they knew each other, a young one at that otherwise he probably would have recognized her the minute he saw her (there’s had been what one would politely refer to as an _impassioned_ liaison). Hobbits were tiny creatures and she’d almost been at her full height the first time they’d met. She’d reached her full height by their fourth meeting, but dwarrow were normally taller and aged slower, so it was reasonable to assume she was a young lass on the cusp of maturity even after she’d reached her majority. It was a trick her mother had made great use of her entire career, and Bilbo’d followed in her skilled footsteps. Boots, though clunky and annoying, hid their race, and _that_ made home the safest haven they’d ever hope for. Of the people who’d actually _heard_ of hobbits even _less_ had seen one (or so they thought). Even fewer than that knew anything about The Shire. It was the biggest advantage the family had.

            But this wasn’t a night showcasing her triumphs, this was one broadcasting her failures and she’d let Nori, son of who the hell knew, entirely too close entirely too often. He may not have been as innocent as she in his experiences, but he obviously suspected something as he kept glancing her way, measuring her reactions and listening to her conversations. She felt it every time his eyes strayed to strategic areas. And not the way the young Fíli had either, no this was tactical and questing.

            Before she was driven completely mad by apprehension (she resolutely refused to acknowledge even a smidgen of anticipation), there was a booming knock at the door once more. The smial fell silent for the first time that evening and Gandalf looked about as he rose, “He’s here.”

            The little hobbit followed after the group converging in her foyer as the wizard opened the portal and a familiar voice that reverberated through the bones and soul filled her home. “Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. Wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for the mark on the door.”

            The only thing that stopped her from running out the back door then and there was Gandalf’s hand, which had magically reached back into the group of dwarrow and thrust her forward “Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company Thorin Oakenshield.”

            It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the bloody wizard she was well acquainted with one Master Oakenshield and his infamous sense of _direction_ (number eight on that list of bad ideas and the birth of rule number [52](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1028873), never take directions from a dwarf), but for the fact she suddenly found herself circled by said dwarf as he scrutinized her meager appearance, “So, this is the Hobbit. Tell me, Mistress Baggins have you done much fighting?”

            Her eyes narrowed, she’d never enjoyed the encounters she’d had with dwarrow Royalty, “Not much no, unless you count your pretty little companion over there,” she shot her chin in Kíli’s direction as she glared at the circling King.

            There was a slight chuckle from the brothers Fundin and a solid laugh out of Bofur but silence mostly reined as he continued as though she hadn’t said anything at all, “Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?” he demanded as he finished his circuit, crossing his arms in front as he leaned back negligently.

            “Well I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know,” she mirrored his insolent stance for good measure, absently trailing a finger over the weight of her concealed throwing knives (most of her vests were outfitted as holsters for her projectiles of choice, thank you very much) as she turned her less than amused glare on Gandalf, who had the audacity to look as put out as she felt. Really this was _his_ ruddy exhausting friend, not hers.

            “Thought as much,” the insufferable prat glanced back at the gathering, “she looks more like a grocer than a burglar,” at which time there were gales of laughter and an exodus from the room. Even Gandalf gave a halfhearted chuckle as Thorin passed by him. Once out of sight, however, the old wizard leaned against the archway of the dinning room and rolled his eyes heavenward. If he hadn’t looked as put upon as she felt Bilbo would have had it out with the barmy creature then and there. She held her tongue for the now though. She would soon regret this mercy.

            As she allowed herself to be shuffled into the dining room with the broody bastard she assumed it wouldn’t be much longer before she found out what this nonsense was meant to be about. Even before Thorin could finish the meager offerings the rest had saved him, Balin was asking, voice mildly harried, “What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?”

            The way the King set aside his implements was less than assuring as Bilbo stood beside Gandalf in the shadows of the darkened room, “Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms.”

            “What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dáin with us?” Dwalin’s voice cut through the lighthearted murmurs the way an executioner’s sharpening of his axe cuts through the heart of those on death row.

            Thorin met every dwarrow’s eyes before answering, “They will not come.” Allowing the din to fall slightly, “They say the quest is ours, and ours alone.”

            Well this was all well and good but it wasn’t telling her why these animals were sullying her home, “Quest?”

            Gandalf patted her hand as he turned to make further requests on her damaged soul, “Bilbo, my dear girl, let us have a little more light.” He then turned deaf as the hobbit lass grumbled about something sounding like ‘old badgers’ and ‘usury fools’. With another candle at his side and Bilbo peaceably (for the most part) perched on a stool beside him, the wizard brought out an ancient looking piece of parchment, “Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

            Her face betrayed her displeasure as she turned a sharp glance to her old ‘friend,’ “The _Lonely Mountain_?” it was a _continent away_! What did that have to do with a _much-retired_ Took?

            The red bear of a dwarf announced from his place, “Aye, Óin has read the portents, and the portents say it’s time.”

            This was followed by a surprising rendition of what they were by the apparently not _completely_ deaf dwarf, “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

            Bilbo watched in contained horror as the lot of the addled morons began to nod in agreement. She quickly nodded along as she added her own coppers into this nonsense, “Oh, aye! Hobbits have portents as well. When the midsummer’s sun is at it’s zenith in the twelfth house and the moon is made of cheese a portent reading lunatic will lead his team of merry idiots on a cheery cross country expedition! I’m sorry, I wanted to sound pretentious, but I am awful at astronomy[2].” She left the Urs, Nori, and surprisingly Dwalin choking into their ale as she turned back to Gandalf to find an answer to the only piece she gave a flying budgie’s beak about, “Beast?” Her request was made in a rather dire tone. She’d only ever seen one ‘beast’ near the Greenwood before, and she had no intentions of committing any form of malice on him.

            Bofur, always there to help! “Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals –”

            “I guarantee you, Master Bofur, the chiefest calamity of the Age is your rendering of a dragon. Only rivaled by your tatting,” the droll look she endowed the miner with was met with a chuckle and did nothing to cover the slight tremble in her hands as she clasped them in her lap.

            Dori was doing very poorly with muzzling his youngest brother, “I’m not afraid! I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!”

            Of course this was met by rambling and pounding approval from the rest of the absolutely _mad_ members of this ill venture! Small favors, the din managed to drown out Bilbo’s, “The _hell_ you will!” as Dori pulled the lad down in his seat. Gandalf wasn’t meeting her harried gaze as she tried to stop her fevered mind from envisioning exactly what would happen should Ori’s boast come to fruition.

            Balin brought the rest to heel with a firm reminder, “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.” She could kiss that old dwarrow.

            Grumbling went through them, the deaf dwarf not catching the insult to his person at all. The break in conversation realigned by, surprisingly, the blonde lad at the end and his brother, “We may be few in number, but we’re fighters, all of us, to the last dwarf!” In that moment Bilbo saw the sparks of leadership in the youth that had her questioning his parentage and turning a suspect eye between the younger and Thorin.

            “And you forget,” eager brown eyes and a grin of sheer confidence, “we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.”

            Her bark of laughter was met with a crunchy glare from under bushy grey brow.

            “How many then?” Dori demanded from his spot beside the detained Ori.

            “Uh, what?” the old codger had the most brilliant look of senility as he stumbled through the conversation.

            “Well, how many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!” Dori persisted, not one to trifle with the safety of his family it seemed.

            Of course, the rest instantly proved the advisor’s previous comments about their collective intelligence correct by busting into a ridiculous roar and arguing with each other over the number, proving they were also not the most coordinated of the lot. Bilbo sat back, suddenly not amused at all, as further feelings of incredulity and doom resounded in her chest. She watched Nori and Bifur arguing with each other, Bofur tried to jump across the way at Glóin, and the lads at the end were even beginning to punch each other. And as the table shook the candles did as well. Flames dancing, shadows moving, overcoming them all and sending a cold sweat down her spine, stopping her heart and quickening her breath.

            “ _Shazara **[3]**!_ ” Thorin’s shout gave it the kick start the stuttering muscle apparently needed as she turned to the standing leader, eyes wide in her own fear. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? _Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr **[4]**!_ ” the obvious call to arms against a _dragon_ was what made her wonder there were even dwarrow still roaming the earth.

            “You forget: the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.” Balin was the only reassurance she had that the entire race wasn’t just fools hitting each other with pointy sticks.

            Of course, she was beginning to wonder if perhaps that was the desire of the Valar since their bloody _shepherds_ were trying to prod the race into this madness, “That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”

            And Gandalf was producing a key for the troglodytes that she recognized as the reason for number one on her list of shit never to do again. He weaved a merry little tale about Thráin giving it to him as he silently acknowledged the fuming Burglar. She’d nearly been drowned, skewered and found out just how flame retardant she _wasn’t_ for that dratted piece of business. Now she stood there as they told her the purpose behind her last heist all those years ago was so a group of thirteen of some of the dumbest brutes in Middle Earth could try their own hand at flambé.

            “If there’s a key, there must be a door,” Fíli, vacant as wheat germ.

            “There’s another way in!” Kíli sounded so bloody excited about that she went back to questioning whom at this table was _their_ keeper. Dori had Ori back in hand but these two needed to be muzzled and thrown into a kennel for their own preservation.

            Gandalf was incorrigible, “Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lays hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done.” The bastard had the audacity to be watching her the entire time he invoked this little speech.

            “That’s why we need a burglar!” Ori’s gaze was heavy and accompanied by the rest of the motley crew as he laid it on the fuming hobbit, but she had eyes only for the wizard as she ground out, eyes narrowed, “A damn good one, it would seem…”

            That deaf _bastard_ would be her downfall. She could already tell.

            “I’m no burglar!” she shouted into the din that had resulted with Óin’s deaf announcement of just what sort of self-proclaimed ‘expert’ she was. They could all be deaf for all the note they took of her outburst. So she sank back, unheard and unimpressed.

            “I have to agree with Miss Baggins,” Balin, the old codger, gave her a sweetly disparaging look. She’d never actually had one like that before. “She’s hardly burglar material.” She found she enjoyed it even less than plain disparaging looks.

            Of course, then there was Dwalin, who had nearly lost something dear to him when he made his little speech. “Aye, the Wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves,” only her understanding this was what she wanted kept him intact (and her newfound appreciation for plain disparaging looks).

            But then the blasted wizard had pulled one of his parlor tricks (once again, _not_ impressed). “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustom to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage,” the cracked fool looked around the table as though quite impressed with himself over his knowledge of the Shirlings.

            Amber eyes stared at the Istari derisively, brow half cocked, “My Gandalf, you shameless _flatterer_. Lock the doors and keep the bachelors inside, I’m so sprightly I’m flyin’ out the door with ‘em.”

            The wizard seemed far from amused with the droll comments (though they did get a scattering of encouragement from pointed dwarrow). Gandalf demonstrated his position by pointedly ignoring her as he turned to the Prince of Cinder, “You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Miss Baggins. There’s a lot more to her than appearances suggest, and she’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including herself.” Few knew Gandalf’s greatest feat was the derisive _side-glance_. “You must trust me on this,” and they were handing her a contract, completely against her will.

            She pretended to not hear Thorin’s whispered comments about her safety, and completely ignored the smug look the fool Istari sent the exiled King as he assured him he did not expect her wellbeing to fall into Thorin’s hands. Honestly, the only thing she would trust the silvered barnacle to do was get her lost. With that in mind, “Who’s going to be actually navigating this ridiculous misventure?” She barely managed to enjoy that dig (and the subsequent glower) when her eyes caught something that sent a small fluttering into her heart, “– _not_ be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations… eviscerations… incineration?” She was incredulous, “You lot liable for anything besides eating me out of home and hearth? Incineration? _Really?_ ”

            “Oh, aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye,” Bofur stated plainly as he watched the funny little creature. She was so tiny, barely coming to a bit above his own chin, and high strung, even if she’d managed to relax a time or two through dinner. The hobbit lass and her dry humor, those big luminous eyes that said everything that didn’t come out of the plump mouth. They’d been having a right little time this eve, it seemed wrong to take one so small and so delicate onto such a journey. ’Specially a jaunt that had nothing to do with her. What did the wee lassie have to gain from this besides a nervous condition at the best and a dead one at the worst?

            As it stood the rest o’ them had somethin’ ta gain in this fur themselves. The uppities would have their mountain back and under their ostentatious rule again, the up ‘n comin’s would have the coin for whatever and what how the silver haired merchant and his lot would like. He and his would have theirs for a better life and home. Bifur could finally get looked over by whatever healer they damn well liked, coin no longer a condition in treating the damaged lad. And if he’d gone too long without treatment, well then Bofur’d see to it he’d be supplied with enough wood and a wee shop for his whittlin’ and children customers to keep him happy and occupied.

            But the lass? With the big eyes that made somethin’ in him jolt with dread just thinkin’ about fire anywhere near her pretty bouncy curls? She reminded him of the bairns that would run in and out and about the shop he and Bifur had set up back home. All smiles and curious looks, giggles and cheer. And she was a sight better off than any of the little bits runnin’ about the mountain, not missing any limbs and no obvious scars like the rest o’ the tykes from rough work and treatment. He’d rather keep her that way, soft, happy, and hale, safe in her sweet home that she’d opened to them without any more than a little grumblin’. He’d seen some of the unusual talents she had at her disposal, and though he doubted she’d be able to end the lot of the Company alone, she’d have placed a good hurt on a fair few beforehand. But she didn’t, just sat back and had a pint with him and his mates.

            Lookin’ at her there she was staring at him, eyes flashing some kind of glassy yellow as fear had her heaving. As Balin asked if she was okay the large eyes flashed across the rest of the dwarrow, barely landing on one before another, seeming to settle longest on the young ones. Apparently a soft heart and maternal inklings also settled in the miniscule vessel. But as those flighty eyes returned to his, almost beseechingly and without fail, Bofur leaned forward in his chair, “Think furnace, with wings!”

            Lashes fluttered a moment as her breath stopped outright for a second. The wizard seemed to take this as a bad sign as the old one went to move a hand, to perhaps ground her, but the tinker was intendin’ to keep at least this wee one’s fate off the conscience, “Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.” As she fell to the floor in a heap the miner sat back. It may no’ help the old wizard get his way, but it would keep the little lass safe and in her own soft, warm home. Where she belonged.

            With Bofur’s help Bilbo rediscovered a part of herself that she’d thought had died a long time ago. It was one thing to be a proper hobbit; it was another to have a Baggins’ sensibilities. And that is what she tapped into that sent her falling to the ground like a leaf. On the downside, it was the height of embarrassment and her Tookish pride was bruised (as was her elbow and a portion of her un-goosed cheek). On the upside, Nori wasn’t looking at her anymore.

            When she came back to herself with an impressive bounce of barely ten minutes (really most would have slept straight through till dawn) she was staring at the ceiling in her living room. She rose on her elbows with a small groan to see Gandalf staring at her in something dangerously close to curmudgeonly consternation. “This is payback for the beard incident isn’t it?”

            To his credit the old man _barely_ huffed at the reference (really it was thirty-nine years ago, let it go) and calmly announced, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my dear.”

            She glared up harder as she moved to cross her legs underneath her suddenly achy body (the floors of her smial were good, reliable, _unforgiving_ oak) “I’m referencing the fact there are far easier ways to end me than throwing me to a dragon old man. Send me after an orc party if you must! At least they’ll only be _five_ times my size!”

            In the end, no one was staggered when she refused to sign the contract.

***

            “Truly, how one can get so turned about in these hills is beyond my reckoning,” Gandalf groused as he led the sulking king and his tired troop down the road. The one they’d ‘misplaced’ for about half the day by now.

            Thorin’s scowl was very telling as he thought over the logistics of choking the wizard with his own beard, “The halflings live in a maze like rodents!”

            Before Gandalf could turn to say anything further a flash of red caught his eye, turning forward his scowl became a self-satisfied smile, “My dear. I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

            Bilbo Baggins stood in the middle of the road dressed in her soft leather half trou, yellow vest and red coat, arms crossed under her breast as she watched the travelers amble up to her. A mildly annoyed look passed her face as she asked the troop out loud, “You’re late. Again.”

            The Grey One smiled benignly, “A Wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

            The curly haired thief rose a brow as she hefted her bag, “You know you only get away with sayin’ shite like that cause you’ve that large heavy stick about you right?”

            Some of the company made a valiant effort not to laugh, which promptly gave way to outright guffawing when she yelped as the Durin lads lifted her bodily onto her new pony.

            Gandalf wasn’t in the least surprised by their errant burglar’s appearance. Bilbo would never be comfortable letting her friends walk into the maw of almost certain death without her. He _was_ a bit taken aback to find her in some of her more colorful hobbit attire however. But then, he’d sought to commission the help of one Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, not one Nightshade of the Underground. They’d commissioned her aid, not her identity, and though she was sure that before this venture was done they’d get much more out of her than she was willing to give, this at least, she would keep close to her chest.

 

[1] Hobbits

[2] <http://putthepromptsonpaper.tumblr.com/post/109693220484/i-wanted-to-sound-pretentious-but-i-am-awful-at>

[3] Silence!

[4] To arms! To arms!


	4. Guess Who's Back, Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the game Bilbo. Not quite as rusty as she'd have feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be here either. Trolls were supposed to be here. But this wouldn't leave me alone. Next up is definitely the trolls though.

            “You can damn well wipe that smug grin off your face you disturber of the peace,” the tiny lass grumbled as the wizened old man came level to her scowling continence. Bilbo had hardly been charmed by the flying purse exchange, though she supposed it had allowed her an insight into her supporters. All three of the younger dwarrow and Bifur had certainly cleaned house on her brief jaunt into depravity, as had the Grey One. Even if the craggy bastard had refused to fall into her logical argument that at least _half_ the take should be hers seeing as it was _her_ recklessness he’d been counting on. She sniffled as she continued to patter away on her rather sweet tempered mare. It was the third time she’d sneezed in as many minutes and the lass was grousing to herself as she searched her pockets for that nasty bit of nonsense Bofur had thrown at her. Snuffling into the rag she allowed her watery eyes to take in the rest of her companions.

            Leading the way was, terrifyingly enough, Thorin. Though the King was certainly capable of pointing due east, as she’d discovered quite quickly for herself some long years ago, he did have a subconscious tendency to take that direction a little too severely. She was beyond sure if they had the ability to go as the crow flies Thorin would lead them unerringly to Erebor. As none of them were likely to spontaneously sprout plumage anytime in the near future (barring any mishaps with dinner or crotchety old wizards) it did her heart good to see their recalcitrant figurehead flanked by the sons of Fundin. The whitebeard, Balin, who’s diplomacy made all the more sense seeing as he was apparently the royal babysitter as well as Dwalin’s elder brother, gave the observant little thief something to consider as she contemplated the trio. It must take centuries to garner such skillful tact as this dwarrow had, letting the directionally challenged dingbat march on in all his magnanimity, all the while tweaking the reins of the ridiculous beast when they seemed to be listing a little more easterly than Bree strictly necessitated. Dwalin was perched on that sad little pony (it was cruel and unusual punishment to place so much dense muscle on the wee lamb. Even Bombur’s wasn’t expected to cart much more than the dwarf himself, Dwalin’s had axes and war hammers, enough iron to supply the Shire with cookware three times over), trudging on the other side of his lord and master. The Guard would periodically display his own charming amount of ‘tact’ by reaching out and pushing off on the self same beast when its stupefied rider attempted to occupy the same space as his own. This would reduce the pair into some rather adult jostling of one another, only ceased by the dark side looks sent from under a bushy white brow. Bilbo shook her head as she rubbed at her temples where a distinct ache was beginning to nestle in for the duration. Children, all of them.

            Right behind the trio perched the loudest bastards in the troupe, so help her Eru. The fiery-headed behemoth and his portent-reading greybeard were going back and forth in some truly devastating conversation. She was lagging at the back of the line herself, and could still make out the roaring tones depicting the epic tales of one half Valar lad going by the name Gimli. Apparently the dwarfling had been deemed too young for this trip and thus left behind with his mother, who was the personification of all things lovely and beautiful in this piss pot of a world. Strong as oxen and bright as the bleedin’ stars he was. Had he been just a mite older the lad would have taken on The Calamity himself! And _won_. Now, Bilbo wasn’t one to begrudge such pride in ones kin. Actually, of everything she’d witnessed thus far, this was possibly the most endearing characteristic she’d been privy to, as far as dwarrow were concerned. Not to mention she’d have _happily_ waited however many odd years there was between now and the lad’s majority if it meant she’d not need to bother herself with this infernal trek. But there was something to be said about the amount of tension one could suddenly be overwhelmed with after hearing even the most inspired speech when each sentence was repeated five times over, interspersed with an ornery, “EH!?” every ten seconds. That deaf bastard was the only one who couldn’t hear the father in all Arda and he was the only audience given to engage him. Though, to be fair, she’d near fell off her pony when he’d yelled back after being told Gimli’s grand exhibition with duel wielding axes, “Aye, turnips for brains that lad! You don’t duel wield _hats_! What are you teaching the boy!? Just last year he tried to attack a bleedin’ coat rack with me good horn! Hollerin’ bout weed-eaters the entire time.” At least it had ceased the yelling as the father had taken to grumbling about inattentive and unappreciative uncles at that point.

            Then there were the Ri’s. Dori seemed rather intent on driving young Ori to an early grave by nattering and picking at the lad. “Don’t grasp the reins so tightly! Now they’re too loose, you’ll fall right off the beast into a ravine,” (never mind there was no such dip in all the Shire to even remotely resemble such a fissure). “Stop clenching round the belly so tightly; you’ll be bowlegged till the end of your days like that. Don’t roll your eyes at me lad, we wouldn’t even be here had you not been so foolhardy. Straighten your back! Slouching will make you sore in the morning. Move _with_ the horse dear, it’s easier than fighting the smelly thing.” And on, and on, and on, in this line that Bilbo was truly contemplating ending her _own_ misery, or, at the least, becoming as deaf as that loud-mouthed curmudgeon ahead.

            Mercifully or not, Nori was riding behind the pair and interjecting his own two coppers every now and again, “There’s nothing near a _ravine_ in these parts. You’ll be lucky to find a shallow divot. The only thing that makes you bowlegged is well worth the funny looks. If you’d let me steal the damn contracts we’d still be home. All that’s good and proper gets ye, if you’re lucky, is a swift death by dragon fire, if not, a long agonizing one from falling ass over ears into a divot. There are plenty more reason for him to be sore tomorrow than bad posture. Your nagging first on the list. Ew, Dori! He don’t need ta be gettin’ those kinda lessons from ye a horseback!” Of course it didn’t serve completely to her advantage as the blasted thief was still sending some rather lewd glances her way, barely stifled by her glaring continence or the sniffling. Especially after the bowlegged comment, the lecherous shit.

            The Urs were the only damned dwarrow that seemed capable of handling the long trek in anything resembling calm. Bombur was randomly nibbling from some bag of mixed nuts he’d stored away on his person, offering some to Bofur now and again who partook gladly. The elder brother was quietly blowing into his wee wooden pipe, fingering a jaunty little tune she’d not have heard had she not been so close to him in the line up. Bifur was whittling some such creation as he steered the docile pony beneath him with his legs, reins trailing on the ground negligently. It made sense these three would be well versed in travel, seeing as they’d been at it for a while themselves. She recalled a number of times she and her mother had actually accompanied the lot on some of their longer expeditions towards towns with a far more generous market for toymakers. A fond smile quirked as she recalled one such expedition that had been rather unannounced and the shock she’d had meeting the lads so close in Breeland. That had been a charming summer.

            Finally, taking up the rear, and entirely too close for her own comforts, were the two royal pains in the asses themselves. Bred like they lived in barns their whole lives, it had taken her a moment to fully accept the reality the pair of Morgoth spawn actually were Thorin’s kin, but after hearing the blonde menace call to his ‘uncle’ she’d had no more excuse to deny the obvious. She’d been rather shocked to find she could actually feel _worse_ about this mission, but as it turned out the thought of evicting a dragon from a bleedin’ mountain paled in comparison to the thought that these two lack wits would be taking charge of said mountain afterwards. The creatures she’d unleashed on the world must horrify their mother. Bilbo certainly was, and had been eyeing the pair warily since they’d so rudely jostled her onto the damned pony. Even now they had their heads bent and were sending her glances, grinning like maniacs as they did so. Truly, subtlety was as foreign to these dwarrow as Quenya.

            It was as she began to contemplate a countermeasure to whatever the hells those louts were planning that her stomach reminded her she’d not had a proper breakfast, nor, for that matter, a proper dinner or supper the night before. She may be a well-traveled hobbit but even one such as she and her Took brethren wouldn’t allow anything short of a world-shattering calamity to put a stop to proper eating. Even then, she could imagine Adalgrim would try frying a pair of sausage in the fires of Mount Doom. Why, it was simply too un-Hobbitish to bear. With that in mind, and the niggling’s of the beginnings of a plot, she turned towards the tall one at her side and made her request, “Gandalf, when shall we be stopping for second breakfast? Surely we’ve managed to hit upon the proper hour by now.”

            The reactions were surprising and rather telling. Though Bilbo had been aware a number of the dwarrow _had_ been paying her close mind (the lads and Nori being the obvious ones, Dwalin being only slightly less so), she hadn’t expected damn near all of them to have quite so much focus. Turned out she was wrong, and the snorts and condemnation on the multiple faces managed to get her back up quite a bit. Perhaps Glóin’s laughing attempts to clarify for his deaf brother what she’d asked made her a wee bit tetchy, never mind the lack of sustenance in her system. In the end, however, it all could have been avoided had Gandalf not given her a look of reproof before informing her in no uncertain terms, “You’ll have to manage without _second_ breakfast and a good many other things, Bilbo Baggins, before we reach our journey’s end. You were born to the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire, but home is now behind you; the world is ahead.”

            Obviously her allergies and wardrobe had not only fooled the damned dwarrow but had made the wizard forget just who and what she was. But if he insisted on treating her as any old hobbit of the Shire, well, she’d bloody well give him one. Allowing her most posh and bristled expression to mold across her face she sat up in the saddle and declared in a carrying tone, “ _No second breakfast!?_ What are you _heathens?!_ My word, I knew you lot were untoward, no offence, and perhaps a bit crass, definitely crude, even a bit obscene, but I’d not thought you so rudimentary as to deny yourselves basic needs! Handkerchiefs not withstanding, though let me tell you there are _plenty_ of uses for the things besides just running ones nose through them. Such as tourniquets and washcloths and headbands. If anyone could appreciate the utility of a handkerchief it would be you dwarrow what with the offensive amounts of fur you stomp about with. It can wipe away sweat, and grime, why you’re simply _not_ presentable without one. And _no_ a _pocket_ is in no way an adequate representation of a kerchief, though the good sentiment is certainly a sight better than the rest of you ridiculous lot with the dismissal of such refinement. I mean, come now, what kind of Kingdom are you hoping to erect if its most dignified of denizen can’t even find the efficacy and finesse inherent in something so small as a handkerchief…”

            The next hour was devoted to the rambling rant as Bilbo dipped in and out of vague insult, harsh admonishments, and demands for them to stop playing her false and supply her with the food she’d been contractually guaranteed. The only creature spared was Óin, though he was unwittingly aiding in her wicked little scheme by demanding his brother tell him just what in the forges was going on. He may not hear the high pitched whining happening behind him but he could see his brother’s tensed features, Dwalin’s near constant rubbing at his bald head, and Thorin’s crescendoing rage. The old healer didn’t know why Balin was silently laughing at the cousins but he knew something was amiss.

            And if he’d looked behind him he’d see the shock on young Ori’s face as the lad tried to calm his slowly purpling brother down and Nori’s suddenly twitching persona. The thief could hardly contain the sudden need he had to laugh, cry, and kill the nuisance all at the same bleedin’ time. He’d never seen Dori take so much offence in one sitting and Ori was honestly beginning to look concerned over the health of the elder Ri. In that vein there was something astonishingly painful about the screeching tones the buxom beast was maintaining. On the other hand, he’d never seen the head guard so alarmingly flustered as Dwalin kept gripping and twisting his reins in his hands, his entire scalp having gone a distinctly unhealthy shade of red.

            Bofur had tried to keep his tune going but found it was slowly becoming more of a dirge as the nattering persisted and Bombur was trying to decide if he mayhap wanted some of this ‘second breakfast’ himself. It sounded lovely when the annoying waspish thing would start going on and on about the proper accouterments to such a meal. Sounded right proper and made his mouth water, even if the rest made his eyes burn.

            Kíli and Fíli had been chuckling over the nonsense for the first five minutes but as the tiny creature seemed to have enough wind in her bellows to keep going for hours on end the novelty had swiftly worn off. They would welcome Glóin’s poetics on his family at this point, even an orc raid would be blissfully less grating than the amazing _pitch_ she managed to reach when making a particularly damning point.

            Gandalf had developed a very becoming eye twitch. Something Bilbo was sure meant some form of lasting brain damage was being inflicted.

            Barely keeping her smile to herself she continued, “It would take less time to just go back and I can get a whole bundle of the things. If we keep this pace I’ll have to buy them in Bree, assuming they’ll have any of the softer silk blends. The pure cotton brand are far more durable but vastly inferior in texture, not to mention how they tend to shrink in the laundry. But that would be a waste, to bring about silken things on such a harsh journey. I don’t know, what do you think Gandalf? Perhaps I shall see if I can find Master Carlin, he always has a veritable trove of delicates and I’ll be able to away with a fair mix.” Her stomach gave a small gurgle at the end of her speech and she sighed in a gust. She’d almost forgotten how this had actually begun with her genuine hunger, though her body had certainly made no such mistake, “Second breakfast? Nothing? How do you people function?! The way you ate last night I thought I was going to be traveling with people who appreciated a fine meal! I wasn’t exactly overly impressed with the manners, for certain. Not some of the most civilized individuals, but this lack of proper mealtimes is barbaric! Why I can only imagine what your _mothers_ would think. Mine would fair roll over in her grave if she knew I was traipsing about the countryside and not even taking the proper time to appreciate the gifts of our Green Lady. Every mealtime being a sacred reaffirmation of her love and desire to provide for – ”

            Her rant was cut off by what could be considered a light cuff to the head and a grumble from the addled Bifur as he rode up to the exasperating burglar. Probably just in time as the tension she saw strumming through Thorin’s posture was potentially going to leave the royal nuisance sore when they stopped. As she rubbed the tender back of her head she found her face suddenly full of muffin. Bifur made a grumbling noise as he held out what appeared to be one of _her_ corn muffins. He had one for himself as well and she nodded her thanks as she took it from him, pleased enough to be chewing through a silent meal with the old warrior. They clomped away next to each other, exchanging nods and smiles every now and again. At the sudden silence the morale of the group could almost be an entity as it jumped. The lads shared a chuckle as they turned back and saw the happily munching creature, Dwalin mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. Even Thorin relaxed into the soft motions of his mount. Cleaning the crumbs from her face with her pocket-handkerchief she smiled up at the addled Dwarf, getting a small one in return before he kicked his pony up to his cousins.

            The company breathed a sigh of relief as the quiet continued for ten then twenty minutes passed the impromptu snack. Thorin even heaved a breath as a peaceful smile began to fight for prominence on his dour face. It seemed everything was beginning to fall back into place. They’d just have to make sure to buy a sack of some form of chewable treat they could shovel into the annoying creature every now and again… maybe a muzzle would be better?

            …

            …

            …

            “So what about Elevensies?”

            “Mahal!” Nori whelped as he dropped his head into his hands. Kíli’s own fell back and he let loose something that sounded entirely too harsh to be proper language for pleasant company. Dwalin mumbled something that sounded a shade worse and more threatening as he urged his mount further ahead of the group, thinking to escape by offering to scout ahead, only to be stopped by his royal cousins who all resolutely refused to be left alone with this nonsense. The only dwarrow that weren’t giving second and third thoughts to murder were Óin, the poor confused dolt, and Balin who gave a soft huff of laughter as he watched the lass dance a merry jig on the patience and forbearance of his fellows. Honestly, after his many years rounding up Thorin, Frerin, Dís, and Dwalin, followed by the twins at the back, it was a wonder he hadn’t been elevated to some form of holy icon by sheer patience alone.

            “We’re late for that as it is. Maybe we should just have a larger luncheon or afternoon tea? What do you think Gandalf? Perhaps something of a crumble for desert… ooh! Blackberries! Blackberries are coming in, I mean they won’t be over ripe just yet but that’s easily fixed with some honey or sugar. I say, what is with all the grumbling? You see this is why a balanced diet is of the utmost importance!”

***

            The company gave their new recruit a wide berth that night. A small terror of engaging another diatribe had worked its way into their very bones as she’d finally fallen quiet after they’d settled the ponies. Not a single dwarf was brave enough to look her in the eyes, and Gandalf had even stomped off into the trees muttering about a much needed pipe and long hours of rumination. Not that Bilbo was finding this anything but brilliantly hilarious. As she watched Dori skirt her tiny area where she’d placed herself and her bedroll she was able to appreciate a feeling of chipper good will for the first time since her smial had been invaded.

            Once again though, she found her self-imposed pariah status tested by none other than Bifur. The old warrior ignored the hissed admonishments of his cousins, “Donna go an’ wake tha’ foul beast layin’ in her mouth!” and the not so quiet begging of the two dwarf lads, “NO! MAHAL’S MERCY STOP!” and made his way over to the lass with his and her own bowls of stew. She smiled up at the dear in thanks, finding herself rueful of her subterfuge for the first time that day as it denied her the quiet conversation with the coddling dwarf. But he sat next to her all the same, slurping up his portion with her, offering another muffin from his secreted stash. With a first taste of the fare Bilbo was beyond taken. “Yavanna’s tears! Bombur this is beyond delicious! You did this with trail rations?!” her shock was too honest as she stared at the cook.

            The dwarf had always been a fabulous cook, but to be a master with the meager fare that was available en route, that took skill and true talents of untold portents. Her blatant praise caused not a little bit of shock to race through the camp and had the plump chef blushing a pleasant pink, “S’not so hard,” was the bashfully mumbled response.

            Bilbo was always charmed by the youngest Ur’s demure behavior and went out of her way to ensure he understood his worth in her own eyes if nothing else, “If this is what you can do with dried meat and cram I’d love to set you loose in a fully stocked kitchen. My word, hobbits couldn’t do better, and if we’re known for anything it’s our food.”

            “Not your incessant wailing?” the gruffly mumbled barb was promptly admonished as Glóin slapped his cousin in the back of his bald head. The lass had finally ceased her banshee impersonation, no need to incite further dispute so soon. Of course, tempers being so tightly strung as they were, this swift reprimand ended in a familial tussle. And dwarrow being what they were, the rest of the Company circled the wrestling pair, Nori orchestrating the betting pool this eve.

            Well, most of the Company. Walking over to the arguably oddest pair in the Company, Balin smiled kindly, “Might I join you Master Bifur, Miss Baggins?”

            Bifur’s grunt was gruff but hardly forceful enough to qualify as a complete denial and Bilbo’s curiosity had always been her downfall. She knew five of these dwarrow well, another by trade, and Thorin by random happenstance. Glóin and Óin struck her as harder to know, being rather insular within themselves as they were, Fíli and Kíli seemed dangerous to investigate, the mischief in them only rivaled by some of her Tookish cousins, and Dori _was_ dangerous as his direct relation to one rather handsy dwarf was not in her best interest. So that left Master Balin, the brother of Dwalin, a brother she’d never been given any inkling he’d had, though she supposed their previous relationship hardly left openings for idle chatter of ones family. “Of course, Master Balin, it would be a pleasure. How are you this evening?”

            The older dwarrow smiled as he settled into the ground next to the pair. He let his eyes wander over the two as he answered, “Oh, a bit sore I’m afraid. Old bones aren’t as used to riding as I once was. You seem to be faring a mite better lass.” Watery blue eyes seemed to settle heavily on the hobbit as the old one took in her relaxed posture.

            And that’s all it took for Bilbo to realize for certain who held the brains in this camp. Gandalf may be wise beyond measure, Dwalin stronger than an ox, and Thorin’s gaze could fell an army of goblins, but this dwarf here was far more observant than any ten she’d met thus far. The day had been long and hard by anyone’s standards. Ori had been hauled off his own pony and was being stretched and coddled by his brothers (the cousins having called a truce when Glóin had rolled a wee bit too close to the fire, much to the dissatisfaction of the betting factions) as the young Scribe tried to reason through the stiff muscles. Even the worldlier dwarrow were a bit bushed from the experience, her jabbering notwithstanding. But none had watched as the lass who’d been lifted onto her pony at the beginning of the day had all but bounced off the sweet little Myrtle before setting up camp. In point of fact most had just been happy she’d finally shut her gob, but this old advisor had not only noticed but also seen fit to suddenly ambush her with his nascent understanding and entirely too close observation of her nature. She steeled her eyes to remain on her soup knowing full well how much her face would give away as she continued the conversation, ignoring the fluttering that made her almost search out Nori’s mutable gaze. Surely if she realized Balin’s potential with a mere chat, he’d figured it out well before reaching Bagend, “Hobbits aren’t normally ones for pony transport, we prefer to walk about. We’re actually rather good at it too. I’ve traveled from my smial to Bree in less than two days afoot, through the wooded areas as is my penchant.”

            Bifur made some growling contribution, pointing to her large feet as he did so. Assuming the direction of his thinking she smiled at the toymaker and nodded, “Aye, we’ve been blessed with some rather odd limbs that make it much easier. Could probably walk to Mordor and never feel the ache in my soles.”

            Balin smiled kindly as he shook his head, “No lass, he’s asked how you don’t seem to be concerned with walking about barefoot.” His own curiosity was muted but there as the advisor glanced at the rather curious appendages. For the now he seemed more interested in digging in places she was comfortable than wiggling through the odd bits of her personalities. Not that she was any less concerned, it was amazing how much one gave away when they thought they were safe.

            Slurping up the last dregs of her meal she smiled apologetically at Bifur, who merely waved her off, and replied, “Well that’d be on account of the leather soles. All hobbits are born with thickly soled feet, and they just continue to callous over as we grow. Here you see I’m particularly hardy, nearly better than your boots as it were. There’s very little worse you can call a hobbit than soft-soled. Though late for dinner is certainly up there.”

            A lighthearted chuckle was had by the advisor as he made haste with his own meal, Bifur nodding contemplatively as he sopped up the last of his with the rest of his muffin. Having been the first to concede to the questioning, Bilbo decided to try her own luck with the advisor, “Master Balin, if I may, what _do_ you all intend to do once you’ve reached your mountain? This is a small troupe for any such feat without the addition of a fire wyrm. Wouldn’t it be easier to just… let it be?”

            She wasn’t expecting a clear answer but she was rather surprised by the one she got, “Well, if you’ll forgive my answering you with another question, would you be saying the same thing if it were the Shire? What lengths would hobbits go to reclaim their own homes and lands after being ousted from them?”

            If any answer was forthcoming the advisor suspected he’d have some incite into their tiniest member’s fortitude if nothing else, already rather impressed by her forthright nature in asking the question itself. Given what he knew of the tiny folk Balin was expecting the lass would become a tad rueful at his suggestion and move away from the topic all together, hobbits not being known for their trials as a race, always having been insulated in their Green Lands. As it was he wasn’t sure what in Mahals’ Forges they’d do _if_ they managed to make it across the continent as it were. But he would soon find, as Gandalf was sure to remember, that this particular hobbit was rather full of surprises, “We’d do what we did last time we were displaced, Master Dwarf. Pick up our roots and find someplace else green and unsettled where they could flourish. Home is hardly so stationary as hills or lands, not for us hobbits at least. It’s the people we love and care for. Is it really so different for dwarrow?” A tiny crease marred the space between two luminesce amber eyes as the lass confronted the advisor in open challenge. For something so tiny and seemingly ill prepared for this journey, she’d proven remarkably sturdy when pushed, easily giving as good as she’d gotten this entire day and keeping up rather well on the pony. He knew she was more prepared for this rough ride than she’d seemed purely based on her lack of obvious physical hurt. Though she’d complained bitterly through the day about everything under the sun, the lass was sitting comfortably reclined in front of him enjoying her meal. Her body was maybe a wee bit stiff but hardly as bad as some of the dwarrow sitting around the camp, poor Ori couldn’t move without small protests echoing from his throat. She’d also proven far wiser than her assumedly sheltered upbringing would declare, keeping her gaze trained away from his own during their little tête-à-tête. Hardly so clueless as first glance would assume, apparently versed in some subterfuge, and rather she was a talent at distraction. And he didn’t rightly care what Dwalin thought, she’d brandished that spear with a fair bit more skill than one would brandish something they thought of as purely ornament.

            But even without suspicion holding his tongue, the advisor really had no way of answering the lass. He could not explain the longing in his bones for the old ways, for his old home. He could not impart the craven fashion he and his fellows had thrown themselves into battle time and again for anything that even remotely resonated with their familial birthright, it was a feeling only dwarrow understood and could appreciate. And he couldn’t explain that, even as the calling was something viciously present everyday of his own extended years, it was as nothing to the way his King felt in every waking moment. Though Balin would and could ignore the summons for the shallow one he and those like him had come to associate with the Blue Mountains, Thorin would never find satisfaction or the cessation of guilt and grievance until he’d brought his people home. And as it was Thorin he followed, Balin would walk into a sea of fire for his King. So rather than try and make this odd but still innocent child of the kindly West understand such old issues he smiled benignly once more, patted her on the hand and shook his head in the negative, “No lass, I’d hazard most dwarrow are not near as different as all that.” And he rose to his feet and retired to his own bedroll, ignoring the look of dissatisfaction on the too open face of their too soft Burglar.

            It was something she would have to live with however. Dwarrow were built to endure, hobbits to persevere. Seemingly similar with the same results but as different as a warg and a corgi.

***

            “Ugh, the ground was sooo hard! Couldn’t you have picked a better spot? Someplace grassy? Or at least with some softer earth? Though I really don’t understand why we couldn’t have just found a neighbor, I told you there was a farming family _somewhere_ around there. We could have been comfy and cozy in _beds_! But no! Lets not take the modicum of effort to find a livable place, far from it. Lets bed down like some heathens; rodents have better nests then what we slept. Might as well have bedded down with the damn ponies. Would have sneezed all night but at least it couldn’t have made me any more sore! Not that I’m all that happy with the way all this riding’s making my head heavy and legs burn. I mean really, I’m a respectable hobbit lass, and we don’t – Oh look! Bree!”

            With that last exclamation the Company was afforded the first length of silence since the beginning of the cursed trek from Hobbiton. Gandalf wasted no time at all in galloping away muttering about a stiff drink and substantial amounts of ear cotton. Thorin turned in his saddle, incredulously, as they passed through the gates, to see the serene face of the annoying chatterbox they’d had the supreme misfortune to acquire. There she was smiling placidly as she stared back at the King, “You’d best look where you’re going. You’ll run over some poor soul in your disinterest.” And then she remained silent. Thorin’s face was a priceless piece of frustrated incredulity that she’d love to pin on her trophy wall, possibly her best work to date.

            As they made their way into The Prancing Pony, Bilbo was rather surprised by Glóin as he stepped forth and began to haggle for their rooms. Listening in on the process she quickly deduced they’d been had and made to rectify the situation but was jerked abruptly back by none other than the King of Dragon Dung himself.

            “Stay back and be quiet, Halfling. I won’t have you adding coin to an already poor dealing by infuriating the inn keep as you’ve been annoying the rest of us since we picked your cursed hide up.” She’d missed that sneer. The last time she’d seen it he hadn’t seen her as she’d slipped from his jails just moments ago and was waiting for the alarm to go out to sneak through the gates with the Guard. As the Dwarf King walked past her to give Glóin and Balin the job of securing their supplies and to tell his nephews to keep to the inn and for the love of Mahal _stay sober_! Bilbo decided it was time to go settle in her room for the evening. They didn’t need or want her help, that was clear, so she’d just remove herself from th–!?

            “Master Boggins! Wait for us!” And just like that Bilbo found herself babysitting barely grown dwarf princelings.

            “What is this then? Don’t you want to be off with your fellows doing Eru knows what for the night?” Bilbo was weary of these half grown princes. The thing about children, or even those not too far from childhood, was their uncanny ability to accept what most adults would perceive as ridiculous. They weren’t mired in preconceived notions yet, and she could see young Kíli, in particular, was an entirely too curious tot for her liking.

            “Well we would, but we’ve been banned. Apparently it’s not becoming for the Durin Line to disgrace themselves in public with spirits and debauchery.” Fíli commented wryly as he came up on her other side.

            “But Dwalin can start in on the Fire Whiskey as he pleases,” Kíli’s statement made a very brave attempt at being _not_ a pout, yet failed miserably as his bottom lip popped out in obvious discontent.

            His older brother was barely better, “I mean, what else is there to do in this tiny town? Barely even a town.”

            “More like a village.”

            “A province.”

            “Neighborhood.”

            “You’re from close by.

            “Do you know where there’s fun to be had?” Faces like kicked pups, the pair of them.

            Sighing Bilbo remembered, once again, why children were actually the agents of Sauron, she stared hard at the lads before caving like fallen soufflé, “Come on then chaps. There’s [fun to be had](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9128140) for those in the know.”

            And off they went.

***

            “WHERE IN THE NAME OF MAHAL ‘AVE YOU THREE BEEN?!”

            Ah, the joys of nostalgia. Dwalin’s roar was almost as sweet as the morning breeze on Sterrenday. The Durin lads and their errant Burglar were making their way up the rode to the inn and ran into none other than the sons of Fundin and their cousin Glóin. The three elder dwarrow had looked a bit down before they’d spotted the younger trio, then they’d looked stunned.

            “We’ve been with Bilbo! Seeing the sights!”

            “It’s amazing what there’s to do here!”

            “And the people are all quite nice.”

            “There’s a lady three streets over who runs a pie shop.”

            “Best blackberry pie I’ve had in years.”

            “The tiniest babes in all Arda!”

            “The rancher with the trick ponies was a sight.”

            “Ooh! The juggler family! They invited us in for… what was it Bilbo?” Kíli’s big brown gaze turned to her for illumination.

            “Afternoon Tea, dear. We were visiting some of my relatives. Quite safe I assure you,” the hobbit’s fond smile wasn’t lost on the lads as the pair nodded along with her reassurance. It was clear the young prince’s had endeared themselves to the tiny lass in their time away just as surely as their claim to the hobbit was written in the proprietary way they had flanked her on their way back to the Inn. It would be curious to see just who would prove best suited to taking the most advantage of the others clear affections. Curious or devastating… Mahal save any and all collateral.

            “The three of ya are a _mess_!” Glóin growled as he settled a pair of large bags firmer on his shoulders, assumedly their provisions.

            Looking up at the lads on either side of her Bilbo did have to admit they were quite a sight. Of course, the rambunctious duo had fit right in with her Took relatives that had made space for themselves in the city of Men. As such the paired been honor bound to wrestle a pig themselves and try their hands at saddleless riding. Both had more mud on them than dwarf at this point. Bilbo, who’d had the sense to leave the tricks to the skilled and practiced, had remained mostly clean, save when Kíli had managed to grasp the basics of the backwards riding and grabbed her up in his exuberance. So mud splattered they all were and quite exhausted, as it was quite late in the evening. The sun had been down for hours and it was time for, possibly, a late dinner or early midnight snack. Of course that begged the question, “What are you three doing? Market closes early in the evening here, surely you haven’t _just_ finished your dealings for provisions!” brow creasing, Bilbo observed the bag laden dwarrow closer.

            Dwalin and Glóin both spat on the ground and grumbled as they stomped into the inn to deposit their baggage and get a stiff drink before bed. Balin just shook his head dejected, “Well lass, it’s a bit more difficult than we’d originally thought to have fair dealings in the city. We’ve just come back from tryin’ to return some unacceptable product. Stones in the meal to weigh it down, turning foodstuffs. Nothing we haven’t dealt with before, unfortunately it will make our funds harder to stretch but it’s the best we can do until we find a Dwarf market.”

            Both the lads started yelping in indignation, demanding the blackguard that would insult their line and quest in such a manner, but Balin put an end to that. As he and the lads walked into the Inn for a bath and bed, Bilbo frowned at the street for a moment before sighing and setting back off into the night to see things put to rights. Bloody stubborn, hairy-arsed…

***

            “I swear to the Good Mother and all she’s created, lad, if you poke me once more you’ll come away with a bloody nub,” the growl was accompanied with one bloodshot eye opening to glare at the youngest Durin.

            Kíli pouted again, though it hadn’t worked at all this morning. They’d packed up and ridden out early, before the sun had truly crested. None of the company was overly interested in staying any longer in this unfriendly little town (save Fíli and Kíli, of course). Fíli had beaten him to waking up their new little friend and he’d been hoping she’d be open to telling them stories about her queer little relations. They’d been so _different_ from the hobbits they’d run into on the way to Bagend, and even different from their own Master Boggins at first. She’d become much nicer and less annoying the longer they’d stayed with the ‘Tooks’ as she called them. It made him very curious, but his curiosity wasn’t being sated by the near unconscious hobbit.

            She’d stumbled out of her room, rumpled and groaning, barely managing to clamber onto her pony under her own power, and had actually fallen clear off the other end the first go round. The rest of their companions found this par for the course but he didn’t understand what would make her so tired. They’d all gotten in at the same time and he and Fíli were right as rain… Here she was though, curly hair running wilder than it was when she’d had the dirt and mud in it yesterday, and honey colored eyes half-mast and dazed. She was also growling at him and Fíli rather like their mother when they used to wake her before the second hour of the morning after she’d been out with Gimli’s mother.

            He was about to poke her puffy little cheek again when a galloping clamor was heard behind them. Being at the rear with the hobbit, Kíli was the first to see the Men as they were riding swift and sure towards them, hailing to the company stop. He was about to call out to his Uncle when Bilbo had shifted her pony in front of his own. The surprise he felt only compounded when he saw sharp amber eyes narrowed and plump mouth tightening showing nothing but displeasure at the approaching Men. Even when they’d invaded her home uninvited and unexpected the hobbit hadn’t looked so disgusted, quite the opposite, she’d looked humorously resigned to their company.

            “That’s the lot of them! Thieves! Crooks! Arrest them at once!” A shrill cry came from a plump man taking up the back of the squad of city guard as they pulled up even to the dwarrow.

            “What’s the meaning of this?!” Thorin came forward from where he’d been riding at the front (much to Bilbo’s continued distress (Eru save them if Thorin was actually trying to _lead_ the company) her only comfort was Gandalf riding next to him). Balin and Dwalin came to sit at either side of their King, Gandalf coming to rest a hand on the tensed shoulder of their Burglar. Glancing up at the wizened figure she saw his slight nod and relaxed, it appeared he’d be taking care of this mess. Good, let him clean up something _she’d_ done for a change, instead of the other way round.

            “That’s them! The old one and that inked cretin. Them and their red haired barbarian were the ones who came to my shop demanding more grain for no coin! Thieves!” the fat man continued to point at the dwarrow in question, sweating in his exertion and wheezing from the obvious excitement of the moment. His beady eyes were shining in the fat folds Bilbo presumed he called his face.

            Dwalin really never disappointed Bilbo; it should be a rule, maybe she’d shuffle some about. “Who’re ye callin’ a thief ya – AH!” the bald dwarf was suddenly nursing his head where Gandalf had bashed it with his staff.

            Seeing the warrior had been subdued the _large and heavily armed_ Men relaxed slightly and turned their attention to Gandalf, “Now then, what is the matter here, hmm, Master Guard Quentin if I remember correctly?” the wizard’s benign smile came to play as his eyes shifted between the Captain and the Merchant, sparing the cursing dwarf a quelling glance.

            “That’s right Master Wizard,” Quentin replied deferentially. He had to be in his late forties early fifties, brown hair falling over a weathered face, barely beginning to grey. But the feature that appealed to Bilbo the most at the moment was the clear exasperation he was showing at the entire situation. Apparently there was no love lost between him and the piggy merchant. “Master Haldrig found a part of his wears missing this morning. It would be a help if you and your company would allow us to look through your provisions.”

            The din _that_ sent through the dwarrow could have deafened a giant. Easily masking the quick glance the wizard sent the burglar and the half smile he received in exchange. Thus Gandalf insisted the Captain be allowed, seeing as they had nothing to hide, having bought and paid for their rations, the day before. And that’s exactly what they found, fresh grain and dried meats, perfectly respectable quality and not a stone in sight.

            Now Bree and most cities of Men had a fair easy way of keeping track of their wares and sales. Each package was actually stamped, embroidered, or in some places, painted with a given weight and the name of the product or grain. Upon transferring funds and wares the packages would be stamped by the merchant with his crest of approval proclaiming a fair sale. These proceedings were purely to keep the patrons and merchants honest in their trade. In this instance they were looking at one of the more effluent merchants of Bree, who’s materials came in parcels that were not only embroidered with the quantity and quality of the wares, but also sealed shut with a specific embroidered knot. Not only did this knot alert all to any tampering with the parcel but Master Piggy’s bartering in prepackaged goods was a tacit guarantee of freshness and quality as the inability to poke about at the grain demanded. Honestly the dwarrow should have been able to take their product on good faith as any other patron in Bree, and should they find anything-amiss return it for better wares. But where the Men of the city had the guard at their backs the dwarrow had been more than abused in any and all city of Men they’d traveled through, why should they expect anything different here?

            But when the Captain was directed to the parcels on the laden ponies there were a number of curious surprises in store for the gathering. Not the least of which being the lack of tampering, no stones in sight, but then the quality was far greater than they’d thought they had paid for in the first place. Furthermore, the parcels had been freshly embroidered shut. It seemed their old packages had actually been replaced sometime during the night with these new bags of quality grain and meats (later that night Bombur would find a few extra pouches of spice for his stews as well but he’d hardly go about making a fuss over the gift till they’d put Bree well and truly behind them.)

            The only people not surprised were the Wizard, the Hobbit and the Merchant. The last of which pointed in triumph, “There! My best wares! They’ve hardly paid for that much grain!”

            Gandalf looked decidedly pissed as he glared down at the tubby mass of greedy flesh and demanded, “Is that not the weight agreed on? Are those not the bags sold and marked with bill of sale? Who else in your employ has the authority to stamp your wares after a transaction?” At that the meaty bastard shifted a bit uncomfortably in his saddle, hand rubbing over the ring he used for just that. Traditionally the only one with privilege to such a seal was the Master Merchant hiself. So if there was no other, and he kept it so close at hand (pun very much intended) how could he _not_ be aware of the sale? Gandalf’s eyes took on an even sterner glint as he continued in blatant disapproval, “Or are you saying your wares are not weighted properly? Or perhaps there are discrepancies in your bartering system? Which, I wonder, is the larger crime then? Taking advantage of travelers or correcting an obvious accounting mistake?”

            Captain Quentin tried to contain a rather becoming smile as the Merchant turned purple and sputtered, “My apologies Gandalf, and to your companions as well. If that’s all Master Haldrig, or would you prefer I investigate into the matter further?”

            As the Men made their way back to Bree with the distressed merchant the dwarrow converged on Gandalf for an explanation, to which he merely chuckled and replied, “My dear dwarrow, did you really believe you’d be so tried at such an early stage of your journey? No, best to look forward as the true trials await us still.”

            With this new mystery occupying the Company, Bilbo was left to her riding nap and happily asked the gamy wizard to wake her when they stopped for midday meal. She didn’t see the curious twin gazes as she fell under sleeps thrall.


	5. Trollolololol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Trolls, or course there’s fucking trolls. Fíli and Kíli are gonna get their asses handed to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little carried away with the movie dialogue. It's my favorite scene, I can't help myself.

            After her nap and lunch she was in a much better temper than she’d been wont the entire trip thus far. Myrtle had been a lamb about her unconscious passenger and the lads had apparently taken it upon themselves to ensure the sleeping hobbit her rejuvenation. Of course, the moment she began to stir they were on her again like yapping mutts on a squeak toy. Really, they must drive their poor parents to drink, “Lads! What is it you want _now!?_ ” she desperately tried to conceal any fondness that was trying to burst from her. She’d always had a soft spot for enthusiastic youth, possibly a kindred spirit calling to her own misguided one.

            Kíli was quick to see the smile regardless, and quicker still to take advantage. Nestling as close to the hobbit as he could, “Miss Boggins! Tell us more about your Tooks. They can’t just eat all day and play with animals!”

            The big brown eyes were a horror to deny, and when larger blue ones joined them she had no defense. With a sigh she began to tell the lads ‘all’ about her relations (yeah right) and some more interesting things about hobbits in general. Before long she found a silent shadow tailing the trio and cast her voice a bit towards the back in hopes of coaxing the shy Ori to join them, “Well the Tooks are a curious lot indeed. As you could see there’s a fair scattering of us in Bree, and they’ve their own hills in Tuckborough and Northfarthing. Not many live in Hobbiton proper, not being too keen on all that’s ‘proper’. Chances are if you run across a hobbit outside the Shire it’s a safe bet it’s a Took. I daresay no one save you lot have ever met another kind of hobbit. They’re a wild bunch and quite quick to make fools of themselves.”

            “Well you’re rather proper Miss Boggins,” Fíli announced as he kept pace at her right.

            With a sigh Bilbo announced, “Right lads, I’m not havin’ any more of this ‘Boggins’ hogs wallop. You’ll call me Baggins or Bilbo or I’ll clam up like your sour faced Uncle up yonder.” The glare she received for the lilting carry of her comment was cheerily awarded with a sweet smile and a light wave. When he turned back around she continued, “And I’m a Baggins, dear boy. They’re known for nothing if not their propriety. They write the book on what’s proper. I’m not fully convinced there hasn’t been such jotted down on the proper way to take a walk or eat Afternoon Tea and circulated within the Shire. The Baggins name is certainly not one to scoff at, and is _very_ well respected.”

            “So they’re like Hobbit Royalty then? Did we just make off with the hobbit princess?!” Kíli seemed entirely too gleeful about that as he bounced in his saddle.

            “That little burrow of yours was quite the size. Especially for one lone hobbit. _Are_ you the Halfling leader?” Fíli made a valiant effort to temper his amusement with some diplomatic concern, and once again Bilbo wasn’t impressed with the hands she’d be attempting to leave the Kingdom of Erebor in.

            Narrowing her eyes at the enchanted faces she nipped this nonsense in the bud, as she could only imagine how annoying the pair would be if they started bowing to her every other second of the day, “No! No Baggins would ever take up leadership of the Shire. It would require too much interaction with strangers. As it is we hobbits haven’t had a ‘King’ in ages. We’ve a Thain who settles disputes and makes sure the smials and families are all getting on well enough. He coordinates the Sheriffs and family heads. Hobbits are very peaceable creatures, more interested in home, hearth, and food than petty squabbles or _war_ like you odd lot. For all you dwarrow are reasonably sized you’ve got an astonishingly backwards way of dealing with things. The Thain tends to coordinate with outsiders, setting up trade for things we don’t make in the Shire, or with the Rangers who help protect our boarders with the Bounders. So of course, only a Took would do. The present one is my Cousin Fortinbras.” Uncle Isumbras had passed just last season. It sent a twinge of guilt through Bilbo thinking about abandoning her cousin to his mourning and new position but the eldest Took had Lalia [1](a truly fearsome Hobbit (I mean fucking scary, Bilbo wasn’t sure the Took tree would ever be the same after the lass)) and a small litter of offspring running about.

            She’d done something wrong. She could see it in Kíli’s puppy face and Fíli’s suddenly over bright eyes as the pair shared a glance above her head. The blonde began slowly, “So what you’re saying is – ”

            “You’re the daughter of your people’s most _respected_ clan –”

            “And of their _law makers_ clan –”

            “Which would make you –”

            “Equivalent to nobility –”

            “Royalty even –”

            “So in point of fact –”

            “We’ve run away with a _hobbit princess!_ ” The twin smirks were blinding as the pair raced through the lines to inform the rest of the Company of their findings.

            With a groan that had Myrtle whinnying in sympathy, the hobbit lass buried her face into the pony’s mane, allergies be damned. She’d been content to remain prostrate for the rest of the bleedin’ quest had a timorous voice not piped up from her left, “What are Bounders?”

            Turning she found Ori looking over at her with open curiosity alight in his big brown eyes. Jaspers when they glittered like that with barely a hint of green along the pupils. With as encouraging a smile she could muster under the sudden weight of far too many contemplative and disbelieving glances, Bilbo answered the query, “They’re a group of hobbits tasked with maintaining the boarders. Their biggest job is finding the lost when any Tall Folk come wandering in, though they’ve been known to chase off some rather unsavory characters and animals in the past.” She easily recalled the number of lost Bounders during the Fell Winter, both from wolf attack and freezing. “Mostly consisting of Tooks and Brandybucks, though you’ll see the occasional Boffin every now and again, maybe a Chubb or Hornblower.”

            Midway through her chattering she’d realized the tiny scribe had taken out his traveling tome and was recording notes. It was endearing but it caused her to frown all the same. This lad should _not_ be here. “Why are you here, if I may, Master Ori?” the hobbit’s voice was light but her face was pinched in worry as she stared at the tiniest dwarrow (which is actually amazingly misleading as even as slight as he was compared to the rest of the dwarrow he was taller and larger than she would ever be).

            The lad’s face went surprisingly blank as his quill ceased its scratching, eyes taking on a harsh light as he turned in the saddle to pin her with a demanding glower, “What do you mean, Miss Baggins?”

            Far from cowed by the calf-eyed lad, Bilbo pushed on, lips pursing and eyes pinching in consternation, “You are a scholar, are you not? A scribe and writer. Your craft is one suited for libraries as you are burdened with the documentation of a civilization. You are not a warrior as Dwalin or Thorin, not a healer as Óin, not one meant for harshness as the Urs. So what are you doing in this mad quest? What could you possibly hope to prove with your impending doom?”

            The lad’s eyes narrowed further as he turned to face forward and gripped his reins tighter in unexpressed anger. He remained silent so long Bilbo thought he would refuse to answer her rather rude query, when suddenly he sent her onto her ear, “What does a _hobbit_ hope to gain tinkering in the affairs of dwarrow?”

            “I was invited,” she raised a finger to indicate the differentiation, eyes widening at the harsher tone from the normally cordial lad. She’d never seen such a strong current in her little friend before.

            Turning back to stare at her overlarge eyes, Ori nodded, “But you didn’t have to come. You weren’t going to. Why did you change your mind? At least I’m dwarrow. My people have a stake in the Mountain and the treasure. From my research, hobbits care nothing for wealth and rarely leave their hills. You said so yourself not moments ago. What makes you so different?” That sharp gaze was all Nori as the lad watched her reactions, trying to dissect the truth from the fluffed creature at his side.

            Calming at the directness, Bilbo breathed deeply and forcibly relaxed her stiffened posture, allowing Myrtle to sway her into a fluid gait. With a self-deprecating smile, though ragged at the edges, Bilbo turned back to the front, nodding, “You’re right or course. It was very rude of me to ask such personal questions. I apologize for my intrusion Master Dwarf.”

            And she was fully prepared to remain in a stifling silence for the rest of their ride, save the lad had more curiosity in him than spite. So when a tentative voice asked her if he could still ask her questions concerning hobbits she merely smiled fondly and nodded encouragingly, “Of course you may, Master Ori.”

            A contrite smile was her reward as the lad leaned forward into his tome eagerly, “You mentioned your families a moment ago. How could the line most given to… well… tomfoolery be given such power and not the more respectable?”

            “Well, a Baggins would hardly be interested in the managing of outsiders, dear. They are the epitome of insular, as I said, the hobbit standard of hobbity behavior. The Tooks, on the other hand, have the wherewithal to maintain such connections and hardly begrudge the chance. And they’ve done very well for near six hundred years now. It takes a whole lot of nonsense to keep the world spinning after all.” The wink she sent the lad had a charming little blush working its way higher in his cheeks as he scribbled her curious answers down.

            Eventually they breached the topic of other families within the Shire. Particularly the family’s penchants for certain talents, “There are the Gamgees and the Ropers, both of which are largely gardeners. Which would make sense, as they are the same family line, merely divergent names. Rather sweet remembrance of father by a son if you ask me, but a story for another time. The Brandybucks are wild things, known for their wine, not surprisingly at all. Many brands and vines for an ever-growing plethora of alcoholic pursuits. Truly inspired the lot of them considering they live in Buckland, not the most tame lands this side of Bree.”

            “And the Baggins’s are known for their respectability and the Tooks for their leadership abilities,” the brown eyes were wide and curious as the scribe scratched notes into his journal.

            With a bright fond smile Bilbo sighed, “Ah, I am an odd mixture indeed. Myself and my cousin, Adalgrim Took, are the only known Baggins-Tooks to have happened in quite some time.” Seeing the eager curiosity she continued, “I can tell you the Took are as known for their lack of properness as the Baggins are known for their abundance. Nothing a Took enjoys more than a scandal. Which is why my parents story is such a wild and sweet affair.” Then she burst into the tale of her parents and their meeting and courtship that eventually led to her birth.

***

            “It’s no’ often I see someone sleep so sound on a beast. I thought ye said hobbit’s didn’ ride? I suppose you’re no’ a complete lack wit.”

            It was amazing, it really was, how easily the body slipped into familiar patterns with or without the conscious order to do so. By rights the teasing whisper in her left ear should have had her jumping right out of her skin. Instead it sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine and had her mouth quirked into a fond smile as she remembered other instances she’d been ‘surprised’ by the Master Thief. Bilbo managed to come back to the present right before she turned to purr something salacious into Nori’s own ear, and instead turned big confused eyes up at the disgruntled sneak. Apparently he’d been hoping to make the hobbit hop. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean Master Nori. The only thing I seem to be excelling at is babysitting the princelings. And I said I didn’t need a pony, which was completely true. I never said anything about lacking skill with the dirty beasts.”

            Mutable eyes took on a slight green tinge as he leaned a little further into the tiny creatures space to see just how big those honey eyes could get, “Much experience then, with _dirty beasties_ princess?” braided eyebrows wiggled a bit to emphasize his meaning.

            He wasn’t normally given to surprise, Nori. Nor was he easily impressed. There was very little that caught his eye or held his attention, seeing as he was traditionally on the move and looking out for the next big heist or the closest exit. But this tiny bit of plump and sweet was sending him reeling time and again. Her honey eyes seemed to turn a shade darker and thicker as they took on a sultry look that sent a small fission of fire through his veins before leaning into his side and whispering into his ear, “Not on your life,” then bouncing to her big hairy feet and flitting over to chat up Bombur at the cook pot.

            His chuckle was soft as he watched the plump arse bounce away from him. It was a shame they’d not the proper means for him to really explore this tiny conundrum, seeing as they were all probably going to be flambé at the end of this suicide mission. He’d have liked to spend maybe a few moons mapping the contours of that rolling body and sharp tongue. Though it was highly ill advised to tup a member of the Company as there was no getting away from them. Still this little hobbit had presented quite the puzzle for Nori since he’d (literally) fallen upon her. There was something that niggled at his mind, an odd _knowing_ in his hands when he brushed against her, a familiarity that accompanied the chiming laughter and sassy wit. But when he allowed his senses to direct his memories the traitorous things instantly alighted on a wee little minx he’d chased across the Blue Mountains all those years ago. There was nothing of that spitfire in this tight-assed gentle lady, however. His little petal from so long ago would never have turned her nose up at this trip the way the Halfling did, nor would she have been so damned grating at the forefront of their journey. Handkerchiefs? Really? He recalled one heist gone a little south where the pair of them had been dragged through mud and rain for three days. The strumpet had kept that blasted hood on the entire time and it was practically glued to her face and head like a second skin by the end of it all. But through the cold and discomfit that plump little mouth of hers had glowed as she smiled and laughed at his ruined hair and braids.

            No, ever since he’d lost track of the wee one some decades back, give or take, his mind had developed a rather alarming habit of super imposing her image and texture on any feminine physique he’d come in close contact with. It hadn’t kept him celibate by a long shot, but it was disturbing. The only piece he’d ever set his sights on that had irrevocably slipped through his grasp he supposed. In his more honest moments (normally found at the bottom of a bottle of something abrasive and fiery) he could admit to a bit of guilt too, over the sure to be vicious end to the mite. Theirs was not a kind business and to have gone missing for so long implied something a bit more sinister and final. Guilt he was feeling every time he glanced at his kin and thought of the end they were sure to be meeting sooner rather than later. A little even spared for this naïve, gentle lass. Maybe it was as simple as that and this little thing being the closest too similarly buxom he’d come since those mountain runs.

            Even so, there were a number of discrepancies in their wee ‘burglar’ that were puzzling themselves in his ever sharp mind. Not the least being how calmly she’d taken his sneaking about her person. She hadn’t known he’d come up behind her where she’d once again sequestered herself from the main encampment in the darkness. And that was another thing. For some soft creature that’d never been more than a stone’s throw from her people’s lands she seemed rather comfortable in the shadows of these Wilds. Maybe it was bred of naiveté but the calm she’d exuded was putting him on higher alert than before. Watching the small round face intently, Nori sat across the puzzle and began poking around at the loose bits as he wound a piece of twine into knots.

            “Is that my _lace!?_ ” the squeak was shocking and immediately to his right, making the lad jump, though it appeared more of a slight twinge as he turned a swift gaze up to the scowling lass he’d been contemplating. How in Mahal’s name had she managed to sneak up on him _again!?_ He’d been bloody well _observing_ her! Yet she’d slipped his gaze for a shadowy second only to pop up to the side and behind him.

            Seeing the confusion on his face Bilbo sighed gustily and pointed to the twist he was contenting himself with. She watched the thief come back to himself a moment later and give her a brittle smile, inlaid with a touch of menace he only displayed when confused, “Well it was so precious and pretty, rather like our fair little host we’d left behind. Can ye blame a lad for tryin’ ta remember such a sweet thing?”

            Hands on hips she shook her head and sniped back, “A wordsmith as well as a thief. Will wonders never cease Master Dwarf? Any other talents I should be wary of?”

            Red braided brow tweaked into their more salacious bent, “Well now, Miss Hobbit, are ye askin’ for a demonstration?”

            Her blush was quickly concealed as she stomped off, unfortunately her eyes had given her interest away well beforehand and her apparent disappearing acts were swiftly adding intrigue to the thief’s curiosity.

***

            “Miss Boggins?” Kíli’s voice was soft as he crouched at the head of their resident burglar. He nudged the sleeping form where she was curled up in her sleep roll and had to swiftly shove his fist into his mouth to stop the chortling as the smaller female snorted and grumbled before turning away from him.

            Fíli smiled largely as he was suddenly face to face with the hobbit preparing to make his own attempt to raise the sleeping figure, “Bilbo? Come on Bilbo! It’s time to get up! We’ll be leaving within the hour.” He accompanied this with some rather more vigorous shaking than Kíli had been wont and was rewarded in the way Kíli had assumed would be the case, with a swift tiny fist straight to the nose. His curses and Kíli’s gut wrenching laughter were enough to draw the attention of the rest of the rising party, many giving their own burly chuckles at the foolishness ahead. Bofur had even went so far as to lean onto his mattock and make a show of becoming comfy for the spectacle.

            Annoyed at the small amount of blood loss and his brother’s amusement, the blonde heir got up and went to kick the younger. Seeing the irritation in his elder’s face, Kíli was swift to rise and nimbly sidestep the lad. “Are the pair of ye gonna stand there all day laughin’ yer arses sore or are ye gonna wake the damn burglar?” Dwalin’s grumbling admonishment was made from where he was settling the ponies, having begun packing the majority of their tack on the beasts.

            “I’ll wake the sprout,” Nori offered from where he’d been adjusting Ori’s bedroll and pack, smirking as he watched the happenings out of the corner of his eye. He’d give the lass this much at least, besides some rather enchanting curves she had a Mahal blessed right hook.

            Kíli shook his head as he circled the heavily sleeping bundle, “No, I’ve got this.” With a wicked grin the lad leaned down, flipped the blanket over to reveal the odd furry feet of their hobbit and grabbed up the left, “Wakey, wakey, Bilbo!” and proceeded to drag her across the encampment.

            Bilbo was pretty sure some form of overlarge annoying gnat had somehow managed to escape the bloody sonorous snoring of the dwarrow and was buzzing around her head. One more reason she’d been smart to retire so early. No need to enhance her joint aches from continuously sleeping on hard cold ground, swatting at annoying bugs, or testing her bodies sleep stores by traveling with a bunch of disturbingly _loud_ companions. They were lucky an Orc party hadn’t found them based on Glóin’s echoing slumber alone. She’d felt a gooey gush the second time the bug came around and assumed she’d dispersed the nuisance. But apparently these bastards meant business, “No, no, no, nooooohohoooooo!!!” she whined sleepily as she found herself being bodily dragged away from her blanketed haven amidst a chorus of chuckles. With gritty narrowed eyes she growled and yanked the captured foot, not surprised when the grip around the ankle didn’t give, but more than pleased by the slight slack from the sudden off balanced agitator. With a swift twist and a sweep of her right foot she felled the bastard and freed her foot from its prison. The yelp was satisfying, but the warm cocoon she wormed back into was even more so.

            Kíli landed on his hard ass with a pained cry and fell to his side with a groan as his tailbone radiated from the abuse. Óin, the only good dwarf left to the world, came over to the felled lad after having checked his brother’s nose for a break. With some grumbling about fool princelings and vicious lassies he declared both heirs fine and hardy for riding, “Though ye may want to proceed with caution.” There was a vicious grin on the old healers face as he cast a surreptitious glance around the camp, “Did ye still wish to take a go at it lad?”

            The red headed Ri wiped his hands and backed away slowly, his grin widening with the little minx’s newest surprise. The youngest Ri was rather purpled as he clutched his stomach and his shoulders heaved in silent, what Óin would have assumed was, humor, had it not seemed to be concerning the elder as he kept beating at the back of the lad as if hoping to dislodge his lungs. Óin was thinking he might need to check the youngling before they headed off, _if_ they headed off. No one else seemed eager to volunteer. His brother was certainly out of the running, not fool enough to tempt the wrath of yet another female, even if this one was particularly smaller than his wife or that she-beast mother-in-law. The Durin lads had been disabled right swiftly and without any lasting damage, something he’d thank the little miss for later. That left the Ur family, all of who were in different states of useless. Their best bet had been Bifur who’d seemed to have a calming effect on the lass but turned out to be just as much a morning person as she, dozing into his own boar spear where he stood next to his Bofur. That lad had dropped to the ground at the first howled ‘no’ and had proceeded to dwindle into breathless wheezing, another potential checkup, and all in the first week of traveling. Finally the fat one was puttering about the coals of their fire with a pot for some reason and seemed to completely ignore the entire farce happening behind him.

            Of course, that left only one other soul in the encampment, saving himself, as he was the Healer and they’d be needing him sooner rather than later. “Tharkûn! This is _your_ burglar. Do something!” Thorin’s growl would be far more intimidating had he not been cowering behind Dwalin who was ‘shielding’ Balin’s back who appeared to be praying for patience from any imperial being that would listen. None of that line was very impressively endowed in the faculties but they had been forged in the fire of Lady Dís’s ire.

            And if Tharkûn wasn’t so obviously unaffected by the mental fortitude of dwarrow that growling may have worked, “In my experience, Master Oakenshield, it is best to leave sleeping hobbits lie.” With that magnanimous declaration and none too subtly dubious glance at the softly snoring bundle, he settled onto a felled tree trunk that had enclosed their sleeping area the night before. The King stared in disbelief as the Istari packed his pipe and began blowing his enchanted smoke creatures.

            Before the obvious temper that was suddenly riding rather high on the dwarf King’s ruddy face could give way to bellowing, they were all saved by the most unlikely of corners. Bombur, who to this point had been rather silently listening and vaguely aware of the tragedy that this morning was turning into, came strolling through the throng, ignoring the looks of concern and shock as he ambled right up to the bundle. He leaned down towards the direction of what should be the head, and held out a wooden bowl filled with what appeared to be some rather thick porridge. The Company watched, astonished, as a tiny nose poked through the folds of the blanket cocoon, followed swiftly by a mouth and some droopy brown eyes that instantly widened and lightened into a delighted honey color as she took in the offering. With a small croon of ill contained joy the hobbit leaped out of the bedding and cheerfully nabbed the bowl, shoveling a spoon of the hot meal into her mouth with a moan of appreciation. There was possibly nothing wilder looking or cuter than the tiniest female the dwarrow had ever seen with plump cheeks bursting full of honeyed porridge and wild curls flying every which way on her head. Bifur certainly seemed to think so as the old warrior grumbled something along the lines of ‘foxes are cute till they get in with the hens’ and instantly moved to lift the lass into his lap as he tended the black silky mop. Bombur sat in front of them with his own bowl while Bofur packed up the lass’s tack (in between gasping for breath of course).

            It was only ten more minutes and a curse chased brush stroke later that the Company was back on track heading east. And if the plump little burglar was blushing every now and again it was more than fine as a bashful smile and a nimble hand running down neat little braids accompanied it. That day the Urs dominated the tiny creature’s time, joking about Bombur potentially courting the wee lass through feedings and Bofur’s continued attempts to keep her laughing as they traveled. The four distinctly paid no heed to the kicked puppy looks the Durin heirs were shooting her, or the murderous ones from Thorin. Only Dori was flustered with the bandages Ori’d needed after the event. And Óin went back to being willfully oblivious to the ridiculous louts he’d signed on to keep whole so they could feed themselves to a dragon.

***

            With the boys rather disheartened (read pouting), Bilbo found herself in the sole company of Ori for the majority of the next few days. Which was fine by her, she was happy to discuss Shire and hobbit culture. And that eventually evolved into discussions of histories and books the pair shared. She’d even begun giving him covert lessons in Sindarin while they lagged behind the troupe. Bilbo had been quite pleased to see the lad had flourished since she’d left the mountains. Perhaps not in the traditional dwarrow fashion but he was just as quick, if not quicker, a wit as before and had developed a wealth of knowledge in his own right. Even still he quested for more on the peoples of Middle Earth and was enthusiastic as anything when she brought up new topics for the lad to sink his teeth into. They had been developing a rather pleasant second friendship since the rocky first day and the hobbit was pleased peach by it. But even this came to an end when Balin started requiring the lad to discuss the recording of the quest.

            They hadn’t been more than a sennight or so from Bree when Balin and Ori began their lessons, apparently the youth was here as journeyman and being given the opportunity to use the documentation of the quest as his bid for Master. Balin, being his Master and the Scholar’s Guild Master, was there to instruct and guide as much as he was there to keep Thorin from doing something stupid (Bilbo would like to argue that the ship had sailed on that one as they were presently engaged in the height of stupidity, but they’d ceased listening to her within ten minutes of entering her smial). So she could hardly begrudge the lad his time with his mentor, though it made for some rather boring riding when the Urs were preoccupied with this and that and being lulled into a cantering oblivion.

            But with thirteen rambunctious dwarrow running about she really shouldn’t have been half so surprised to find the time swiftly filled. She was just a little taken aback at exactly who decided to fill it.

            “Good afternoon Miss Baggins,” Dori’s immaculate braiding was truly splendiferous, especially so close up. They trailed like scale around his head and beard, even his topknot was weaved elegantly.

            Blinking back her own surprise at the approach Bilbo nodded politely, “Indeed it is Master Dori. We’ve been rather lucky with the fair weather thus far.”

            A seemingly cheerful nod of the head and a polite smile, “Aye, we have. Hopefully it’ll stay true, I’ve no real desire to be riding about the countryside drenched and stinking of wet nag.” There was some honest disgruntlement as the elder Ri scowled down at his pony. In truth the thing was rather sweet, though spirited, so she could imagine Dori having a few issues to take up with Nutmeg. Especially after one of their first days when the brown mare had seen fit to surprise her original rider (Ori) by holding her breathe as he cinched the saddle. Poor lad had tumbled tack and all off the bedeviled thing as she pranced about whinnying cheerfully. Dori’d seen an end to such nonsense swiftly. Hardly one to tolerate his baby brother’s mistreatment, he’d switched the pairs mounts and, with a swift ‘love tap’ to the middle, ensured the beast’s behavior.

            Still Bilbo was fond of the finicky thing, as it seemed to enjoy the company of her Myrtle in paddock. So she was smiling fondly down at the creature where it nuzzled a bit at her dapple’s muzzle when she became aware of the sharp stone glare she was receiving from the dwarrow on her right. Swiftly turning to face the craggily continence she felt her breath stutter to a halt, hiding in her chest till it was safe to come out again, “Is there something else on your mind Master Dori?” And _no_ her voice did not quiver at the end of her inquiry thank you very much.

            Nodding at the clear apprehension running around the hobbit’s face and in her expressive eyes the elder reached a hand out to grasp the dainty shoulder under his rather _massive paw_ , “Nothing of too much note, merely some advice, from one companion to another. You seem a sweet lass, certainly. It’s quite kind the care you’ve been taking with my little brother these past few days, I know from experience his endless chatter and curiosity can get trying at the best of times. I’d like to thank you for your patience and friendly nature.” It was amazing the shifting in shadow and emotion those suddenly slate grey eyes could portray even as a polite smile remained on chiseled lips. And as though to ensure she was hardly fooled by his benign expression she felt the sudden throb of digging fingers in her shoulder, very controlled as they would probably pulse for hours afterwards but leave not so much as a mark on her plump form. “I would merely caution you against anything beyond friendly chatter, dear. He’s a young one yet, though he’s hardly going to admit it. Strong and brilliant but rash at times, a little bit of a romantic as it were. You understand. And I’ve no intentions of quelling his curiosity, not in the slightest; it is, after all, his most charming aspect. But I will be watching him… and you as it were.” With a cheery grin he released the shoulder that had subconsciously begun to hunch over and patted the shocked dear on the back, “Just so you know.” And with that the brute tramped off to engage Gandalf in some kind of conversation about wizards and weather.

            Wide eyed, Bilbo was staring after the dwarf, rubbing her aching shoulder, when a second hand settling on her unabused limb had her jumping in the saddle. Quick hands settled her swiftly, before she could tumble from the saddle and hazel eyes fell on her, colored sage green in entirely too much mirth as he observed the jumpy creature. He’d certainly take this as a win, even if it were his brother who’d actually tightened the coil on the springy hobbit. Leaning a little closer to the lass in mock conspiracy he nodded to his brother as he watched amber eyes blow wider at his proximity, “A bit of a mother hen that one. Not to say he isn’t completely serious but I don’t exactly see you fancying a tumble with the sweet and innocent type.”

            Dark brow quirked as plump lips trembled into a charming little smirk, “Oh, and you know me so well then? Tell me Master Thief what do you suppose is more my forte? The bold and brave perhaps?” a quick glance towards the golden princeling ensured understanding.

            Something in his chest leaped a bit when she called him that, ringing through memory and tamped down emotion, but the middle Ri locked it tight as his smile became just that much larger and teasing, “Where’s the fun in that? The only thing that dwarfling knows how to wield are his duel swords. Unless there’s something about hobbit anatomy I’m missin’?” The speculative glance down her torso settled for an instant where a certain bulge would be if that were the case.

            Bilbo shook her head, blatantly ignoring the leisurely roll back up her body before locking onto her own laughing eyes, “Nothing I’ll be sharing with you anytime soon, I assure you. But perhaps you’re right, I’ve always found humor to be a sight more interesting than the more traditional avenues.”

            Nori chuckled a bit as he leaned back in his saddle to observe the hatted Ur brother a moment, almost as though honestly contemplating the suggestion, before turning back, “Funny _looking_ , certainly. But there’s a time for fun and games and there’s a time for being a bit more serious. You strike as the kind of lass knows the difference.”

            Not even looking at the lad, Bilbo allowed her amused smile to fully manifest as she replied drolly, “Well then, my silver tongued friend, what do you suppose it is I’m actually looking for? Hmm?”

            Those warm gems pinned him for a moment but the thief was ever one to elude capture as his grin turned this side of lewd and slowly trailed said piece of anatomy over his parched lips. “I imagine you’d be the type to appreciate fortitude and perseverance. Something a bit more forward than strictly proper and a touch of wicked to stoke those fires of yours.” And stoked they certain seemed to be, if that lovely flush of color was anything to go by. Amber eyes turned honey brown, pupils extended out just a touch, as they watched the trail of pink flesh and glanced back to the crafty thief, half hooded. Nori’d just sent a rather nimble hand dancing up a plump thigh, intent on sealing the deal (he’d put his skills to harsher work than finding a undisturbed corner for a tumble, and none half so pleasurable) when they were suddenly greeted by something sharp and stinging.    

            Pulling back as though he’d been bit the Ri watched in rueful amusement as the lass smirked up at him, wielding what appeared to be a sewing needle, before laughingly assuring him, “Not on your life, Master Thief,” and prancing off to the relative safety of the Ur clan.

***

            She didn’t understand how a day so bright with promise had gone so wrong. She’d woken up to more or Bombur’s lovely warm porridge, saddled up Myrtle with no issues, and had been left _alone_ for the first morning since they’d left Bree.

            Bilbo had made one small oversight when blatantly denying Nori’s advances. Maybe two. Definitely no more than three. The fourth could hardly be called an oversight, more like a small miscalculation. Well maybe that was more a large endeavor at self-destructive behavior – You know what? It didn’t matter. To say it plainly, Bilbo’d fucked up.

            Firstly she’d mistakenly assumed that Nori’s interest would wane, as he was not encouraged. Most hobbits certainly did, and save for the few times she’d had to get a wee bit physical and a wee bit violent there was nothing faster at killing a thought than inattention. However, Nori son of, as she found out recently, Vori was far from dissuaded, and a rather persuasive and persistent sort. He’d hardly menaced her, but he was taking the time out to shadow her every so often, making sure she was aware of his attentions and that he was aware of her own. Their conversations, when they happened, were layered with so much unspoken repertoire she felt it almost necessary to map out the entire thing word for word to reassure herself they’d _actually_ just been talking about Bombur’s rabbit stew the night before. _And nothing more_! Succulent flesh indeed.

            Of course, Bilbo would be lying to herself if she insisted she hadn’t incurred _some_ of that attention to herself. Though in her defense it was completely unintentional, almost subconscious. It was practically ingrained in her to lean into the resonating voice when he came up behind her with dinner, or rode near her during their moving luncheon, or caressed her into wakefulness those mornings he served last watch. She couldn’t stop her instinctual leaps towards him when something startled her or the way she’d sometimes seek his gaze when one of the others were being particularly ridiculous. Her fond smiles as she watched him help Ori onto his horse or when he allowed Dori to natter at him about this and that and the other when he rode ahead were hardly willful. Half the time she wasn’t even aware of her mooning till someone like Bofur brought it up with a smile or Bifur with a growl in the thief’s direction.

            And though she’d be much better off if she’d just steel herself to the charms of the witty fool _that_ had more potential to cause harm than their present game of cat and mouse. There was no _real_ reason one _Bilbo Baggins_ of the Shire should not seek friendship, or anything else, from any of the dwarrow in the company. To draw back from their friendly pursuits now would be ridiculous and suspect. Especially after the day the Durin lads had spent with her kin. Not to mention this was going to be a bleedin’ long trip and to make it without friendly camaraderie would just turn the entire thing into a sour march the likes of which she’d rather suffer alone.

            Besides, she’d missed it. That sinful smile, those grazing hands, and that easy charm. She’d left it all behind, and she was old enough now to recognize cowardice when she saw it. Bilbo’d been too young and didn’t handle the multiple losses she’d experienced in the years leading up to her decision to abandon the Blue Mountains. And when she’d realized just how deeply she was beginning to care for the dwarf, who still hadn’t known some of the most basic things about her, she’d been scared and she’d ran back to her hills under the guise of protecting her family. Now, faced with his continued presence over the long road this trip was going to take them she felt the full unapologetic resurgence of every soft feeling she’d ever repressed and every deep-seated desire she’d cut short.

            So there was that, keeping her up at night along with the stones that dug into her back and the dwarrow snores serenading the evening. And that was only concerning the middle Ri. Then there were the younger and elder both causing her their own version of emotional trauma. Ori was still as curious and sweet as ever, riding with her, attempting to continue their chats from before. And while he’d stayed clearly in the arena of crops and family structures, branching out into trade and race relations every so often, things were fine. But once that was exhausted, and the youth began questioning more intimate aspects of hobbit culture, like courtship and marriage, things became a little heated for Bilbo. She should have known better than to tell the lad about her parents so early on, it opened the subject to conversation. And though she’d normally be fine with the query, Dori was _not_.

            It was truly mind blowing how the older dwarf managed to queue into their conversation topics at just the right moment. No sooner had Ori asked the traditional number of children in a hobbit family then Dori had muscled his pony’s way between the two and began a spirited conversation about tea and steeping. At first she’d been more than willing to entertain the merchant, not one that naturally looked for trouble or hurt. But there was only so much she could endure. If she’d been her mother or father, both very keen on the artistry that went into the ritual of teatime, things may have been different. The reality was that Bilbo only ever enjoyed the cuppa with breakfast and afternoon tea, occasionally one with a liberal dollop of something strong and fiery in less than polite company. And she wasn’t getting any kind of aid from anyone, least of all that tridomed menace where he would watch his brother threaten to bore her to death with ill concealed amusement.

            Either way, that morning, none of this was her problem. It seemed Dori was in full lecture mode as he caught Nori’s attention and began ranting about some such or another in their special language. It was only the peppered glances her way that assured her they were arguing over their Company’s Burglar. Nori would shake his head chuckling every so often and Dori would rant all the harder. Ori had been corralled for another lesson with Balin, and the Guard and their Uncle were instructing the Durin lads, after a fashion. So besides the occasional joking comment from Bofur she was left to her own. And it had been grand. Until Glóin had begun to _share_ … _again_.

            After what felt like years of the continuous renditions of the _epic_ that was Gimli son of Glóin, son of Gróin, she could sense the desperation in the rest of the dwarrow. They were listless and grumbling, between the sore muscles and the endless chatter and retellings. Finally the hour came that she’d had enough. Really she couldn’t continue to fall victim to this particular dwarf’s mindlessness. Between the lack of sleep and his attempts to talk them all into witless blobs of Gimli worshiping muck she was going to resort to something terrifying. With a desperate cry, Bilbo fell over her mount’s neck and spurred it up to the front where the proud father rode next to his kin, “Master Glóin!” she announced as she rode closer. Kíli looked to her from his placement behind the dwarf in desperate pleading, Fíli next to him, half concussed in his stupor. At the hale the shaggy red haired head swiveled, eyebrow rising in question, far be it he should go so far as to extend some semblance of civility by _speaking_ to the tiny irritant. “Master Glóin, I propose a deal with you. One that should benefit both of us as well as the rest of our fellows as we continue further into the Wilds and on with this harrowing venture.”

            “What could the bleedin’ toothpick have ta offer the likes of Glóin?” Dwalin’s disbelief was half dazed as he watched the conversation. Thorin could merely nod as he rubbed his hand down his face and through his hair, attempting to regain some fashion of awareness.

            Glóin seemed bemused as well as he merely continued to glare at the tiny Burglar. Undeterred she continued briskly, “I propose you keep your tales of Gimli’s ventures to something more of a nighttime, campfire activity, and in recognition of such trial I shall not air my grievances with our methods of travel for the entirety of the journey. What say you friend?”

            There was a moment of confusion, followed by offence, all swiftly snuffed out by horror at the prospect of the rebirth of the ceaseless caterwauling from those first two days on the road. The Company around them sat at attention, the lads behind him barely containing their dread as they all awaited the father’s answer to the blatant blackmail as the tiny little bitch smiled up at him sweetly as could be. “Aye, fine lass! Just none of the squalling!” and he swiftly kicked his pony to the very front of the line with Balin and Ori.

            The self-satisfied smile on the tiny creature gave way to bell like laughter at Kíli’s wide-eyed wonder and Fíli’s breathless, “Marry me!” The pair would have moved to flank their greatest ally had Dwalin not decided he had grown a surprising soft spot for the lass and began to chat the chit up as they road for the rest of the day. It was stilting as he was a warrior with little but weaponry and training to impassion his conversation and hobbits were not that much for war-games. But it soon gave way to easy banter as the pair shot disparaging comments about the others race at each other. And when the only one who seemed to take offence at her comment regarding dwarrow weaponry compensating for a lack in other areas of physical sport turned out to be Thorin, the pair cackled and blessed Mahal’s wisdom for giving the Durin line Fíli and Kíli.

            Even when the rain began ten minutes after the silence reined, no one took it too much to heart as they welcomed the peace with all the greed they’re kind normally sought gold.

***

            “What do ye think ye’re doin’?” Dwalin huffed as he sank to the ground across the Company thief where he sat leaning against the trunk of a young aspen.

            Raising a braided brow the middle Ri kept his gaze easily focused on the twisting and twirling of his lacy twine. Knot work soothed the lad; fact was his constant binding and bending had the same result on his thoughts. Whenever he was wishin’ to puzzle somethin’ out he’d be better off for a few hours knottin’. But seein’ as the larger dwarrow was notorious for disregarding the still moments of others Nori supposed it would be in his best interests to play along, “I suppose I’m workin’ meself into knots.”

            The Guard scowled as he watched the vandal’s preferred pastime, hardly appreciative of it as it had the duel effect of making him entirely too proficient at releasing from those self same bindings, “Ye know what I meant lad. What ye think ye doin’ wit tha’ wee lass?” Dwalin’s harsh stare was just this side of protective as he took Grasper out for a ceremonial polish. It wasn’t usually in his interest to bebother himself about the personal affairs of his comrades, but he hadn’t been joking when he’d said what he had about the Wilds bein’ no place for soft things. And though the wee lassie had some impressive teeth on her, she was still a mite more giving than he’d like. He may not be able to save her from everything out here but he’d be banned from the Halls of his Maker if he didn’t try steerin’ her safe of the dangers _within_ their wee conglomerate.

            Seeing the obvious ploy Nori’s brow quirked further, allowing his curiosity to read clear as he turned a sharply yellowed gaze up at his nemesis, “Now why’d ye be wantin’ ta know that I wonder?”

            Strong dwarf, stronger jaw. It was purely the will of Mahal that kept his teeth from shattering under that pressure as Dwalin clenched before glaring up at the dissembling bastard, “She’s no’ one o’ your usual little tumbles, an’ I won’ see ye wreckin’ havoc on the quest cause ye can’t keep it in yer pants. I may no’ like the lass bein’ here but I’ll no’ see anythin’ untoward become her.”

            Nori’d been told before his gaze could cut given the correct provocation, and here it was. It’s not as though this was the first time he’d been warned off a potential bedmate, certain it happened a goodly more often than he’d have liked, or would admit. But this was a bit more personal, for more than just it being Dwalin telling him off, that was for sure. They’re hate/hate relationship was the stuff of legends in the Mountain, but the possibility the burly guard had any claim over the tiny trick didn’t sit well with him. At all. He glared up through his creased and braided brow as he continued in his disconcertingly calm tone, “I can’t rightly say that’s any of your bleedin’ business. But I’ll keep it in the same place I keep all your sound advice, friend.”

            Dwalin was hardly cowed by the obvious malice emanating from the slighter dwarf. Merely switched Grasper for Keeper and continued, “You’ve a penchant to chase after breakables with a mouth. Tha’ one’s right up yer alley, fair faced and all. Maybe even a little too much so. Wha’ ever happened to the wee piece ye were runnin’ with all that time ago?” His tone was snide as he kept half an eye on the thief’s reaction.

            He was hardly disappointed as Nori’s back instantly stiffened, stilling in its tautness. The lad gave off any pretense at concentrating on the oddly dainty string in his hands and bared his teeth at the guard.

            Before any kind of retort could work its way from his throat the pair were interrupted by the sudden appearance of their topic of choice. The lass came running into their midst, hair wild, eyes harried as she took in the pair and looked behind her. Suddenly Nori found himself being shoved over and his cloak being lifted (most of his outer layers had been discarded with the rest of the companies to dry by the fire since the rains had finally let up a tic), “Sorry Mister Nori!” and before more than a minute passed he was upright again, back against the trunk of the tree he’d been resting against, though now there was a pleasantly warm and plump cushion. By the time he’d collected himself enough to ask what in the name of Mahal was happening, definitely before he could register how pleasant certain contours felt against the thin layer of his undershirt, the two princes came running by with a handful of ribbon and bells ringing. They stopped, looked at him and Dwalin, who both pointed to the East, and the pair of hellions continued running off.

            As their heavily booted steps rang further and further away Nori dropped the lace he’d been fiddling with in exchange for a red, ripe apple. A round face popped out from his hood as he finished cutting a piece of fruit and deposited the morsel into the eager mouth before the burglar ducked back down once more. His eyes had more green than yellow in them as he turned a smirk up at the scowling guard.

            Once again the pair were saved from violence as the curly head popped back out and chimed a greeting to Dwalin as she squirreled a second morsel from the thief, “Pleasant night innit Lin-Lin? Maybe you’ll have time to air out your hair before it rains again tomorrow… Oh wait. You don’t have any.”

            “Aye, skin’s a sight better than that unkempt nest ye tote about, ye deviant,” the grumble was tinged in amusement, even if the eyes were still severe as the lass remained in the entirely indecent position behind the lad.

            Bilbo merely shrugged, allowing a few shared nuts into her mouth to munch next, “Well, we can’t all be so dapper as to give the appearance of a mange ridden bear.”

            “Or so charmin’ as a walkin’ talkin’ thistle bush.”

            “Are all dwarrow so single minded or is this a quality you share with the slow witted?”

            “Jus’ donna find it fair ta engage one so clearly lackin’ is all. Apparently ye lot also share what’s _between_ the ears wit them moss brained nitwits.”

            “Too true! I’ve also a claim to their grace and manners. Are you even house broken?”

            “Can ye even read?”

            “Can _you_ even speak?”

            “Halfling must be polite talk for halfwit.”

            “Half my wit is still better than any dwarrow’s granite brains.”

            “Oy! I take offence ta that,” Nori burst out, reaching around to pinch at a plump cheek.

            The lass pressed even further into his back as she yipped a bit, escaping the groping paw, “That’s _highly_ inappropriate!” the words were sharp but the tone touched with playfulness as the accompanying slap resounded off his shoulder.

            “If ye wanna talk inappropriate we can discuss your present residency. Not that I’d have a problem with you sneakin’ into other articles of me clothin’.” Satisfied smile in place the lad leaned back into the lush creature. The squeak was cute, the bounty pleasant, the knuckles in the side… he could do without, but probably deserved.

            There was a bustling to their left and Bilbo dove back into her hidey hole as the twin pains in the asses stomped back through their little corner of the camp and ran over to the Urs hoping for better insight into the direction their Burglar had fled. The rest of the night was spent rather peaceably, with the lads running themselves ragged, Dwalin and Bilbo’s banter, and Nori enjoying the contours of his new pillow while trying to ignore the way his mind kept ringing with Dwalin’s warning.

            When they all woke the next morning to see bells on the Burglar’s ankles and in her tangled hair the laugh was uplifting. Even Bilbo couldn’t grumble too much at the boost to moral during the drizzly day.

            By the time luncheon was approaching the tinkling had driven everyone half mad and she was firmly back on top of her game. She was also treated to another grooming session by Bifur as the axed dwarrow grabbed the lass off her own mount onto his and brushed the jinglin’ bits out, securing the mess into one large, ungainly braid, cursing the entire time about its willful nature as he did so.

            She kept the jangles for her ankles though; she thought them quite quaint as it were. And it made sneaking up on Nori all the better the next eve as he damn near fell into the fire when suddenly being attacked by a jingling forest sprite.

            Bilbo refused to tell any of the lads just how in hell’s blazes she’d managed to silence the tinkling dangles as she pattered up to the spooked thief. Balin gave Tharkûn some rather long looks as he muttered to the old codger, “Light on their feet indeed.” Gandalf merely smiled his satisfied smirk as he puffed his pipe.

***

            The argument had started three days ago. Right about the time the rain had become _completely_ unbearable, that’s when Gandalf had thought it best to bring up the possibility of visiting the Elves of Imladris. Because _that_ was the opportune time to convince Thorin, possibly one of the most ornery dwarrow she’d ever met, that he should go grovel at the feet of his perceived enemies. Sometimes Bilbo found herself wondering how Arda remained intact when its keepers and rulers seemed to excel at folly.

            As it were, she was more than happy to stay as far from [Rivendell](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1050252) as a person could. She was already busy watching Nori, who’d gotten all the odder for whatever conversation she’d interrupted between him and Dwalin the other evening, she didn’t need the added weight of her Elven friends. The dwarf’s scrutiny was a near constant, its master seemingly never farther than a stones throw from her at any given time. There were moments he’d even go so far as to lay a ‘steadying hand’ on her lower back, sweep away ‘stray hair’ from her eyes, give her a ‘hand up’ to her pony, but it always lingered longer than her nerves could quite handle, and he seemed to take each elicited shiver as a personal triumph. But where he was prevailing on her physically she was leading in stealth. Though if she were honest the game wasn’t aiding in curtailing his interest, she was hardly the type to step away from a challenge. At least once every evening before they retired she would sneak up on the tridomed dwarrow, leaving him bemused and this side of aggravated. It was hardly a new game for the pair but she could read the exasperated shock on his face every time she handed him dinner, or pulled the last knot on his stolen lace. It was a matter of professional pride for the dwarf and she was merely engaging her hobbity nature.

            So no, she’d rather just juggle her colleague’s curiosity. Thank you much Gandalf.

            And yes, that is exactly how to demonstrate all of your thousands of years of advanced age. Storming off when the dwarf King gets stubborn. Imagine, a _stubborn_ dwarf! Oh the insanity. Still, she had to try, “Gandalf!? Where are you going?”

            The grumpy old man stormed past her, “To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense.”

            That cheeky smile her mother always loved was back, “Tom Bombadil’s here about?!” she asked in a lilting singsong tone, running a pace after the stomping Tall One to let her new anklet jingle after her comment.

            “My _self_ Miss Baggins. I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.” And with that, he was gone.

            “Come on Bombur, we’re hungry.” Every so often Thorin proved to be a dwarf after her own heart.

***

            Hours later found Bilbo standing (sans bells seeing Dwalin had seized her by the ankles and cut the damnable things right off her hairy feet before throwing them into the fire and dropping her on her head on the ground (he was a right bastard)) around the cook pot watching as the stew boiled down into a fragrant thick broth with potatoes bobbing and swirling about the reconstituted dry meats with Bombur, chatting about their fare that evening. “Are you using bay in the stew?”

            Bombur smiled sweetly as he nodded, “Aye, an’ a bit of fresh garlic we picked up in Bree.” He ladled a taste out for the lass.

            Bilbo gave a soft mournful moan as she drank it down, “I wish I’d had the forethought to pick those mushrooms we passed by this morning! They’d have made a nice compliment.”

            “Hmm, better didn’t. This lot isn’t exactly adventurous with their palate,” the red head grumbled as he stirred the pot about and threw a bit more pepper in. It always took a good while for the dried meats to hydrate itself enough to not taste like leather. Seasoning helped the lot along, masking the preserved quality of the fare once plated.

            “Truth brother,” Bofur announced as he clapped the chef on the shoulder, “All the more reason to avoid civilized folk.” He took a quick swig of water and extended the skin to the younger dwarf.

            “Don’t see what the problem with visiting Gandalf’s friend’s would be,” Bombur murmured as he poked a floating tatter with his knife and popped into his mouth, checking for tenderness. He shook his head at Bofur’s offered waterskin, nose wrinkling a bit at his elder brother.

            “I’d just as soon avoid the Elves, thank you,” Bilbo murmured her opinion as she inclined her head and took a swig from Bofur’s proffered skin. And she really should have expected fire to race through her system, it being _Bofur_ but found herself coughing moments later as the water turned out to be some rather _strong_ whiskey. She breathed a moment or two more, wiping her streaming eyes and enduring the chuckles from the mad hatted louse. Once the blaze that had streamed through her throat and gut subsided enough for her to appreciate the warmth in her belly she sighed and took a more bracing shot from the skin.

            Of course that was near spat into the cooking pot as Bofur decided to pat her back enthusiastically before wrapping an arm companionably around her shoulder, “What kind of problems would you wee folk have with the leaf eaters?” His other hand came up to take his own pull from the skin as she handed it back.

            A pained smile worked its way across her face as she used his sleeve to surreptitiously wipe the dribble from her chin, “Not so much as all that. Just, not seein’ this as bein’ the kind of thing they’d necessarily approve of. You know the adage, ‘let sleeping dragons lie.’” And that was an understatement if ever she’d uttered one. Not in the business of abusing the truth but Bilbo was a master of filtering it. She knew damn well what Elrond would have to say about their quest and the ‘furnace with wings’ that awaited them at the end. No need to borrow that kind of trouble. She shrugged as she took another pull after Bofur. The grimace turning into a glare as Bifur came and took the thing away from her, shaking a sausage like finger at her and growling at Bofur.

            The toymaker chuckled as he hugged the tiny hobbit to him a bit before releasing her and moving towards Bombur to check the cook pot, “She’s hardly a young’un cousin!”

            Bombur looked up from the ladle he’d been slurping at, just checking the flavors, with a small frown. He took in the tiny lass and the full flush of her cheeks as she stood beside their scowling cousin and turned to his brother, “Maybe not but this isn’t the place to be gettin’ the burglar drunk! She’d not even eaten yet you lush.” The rotund dwarf turned back to his pack a minute and threw a slice of seedcake to Bifur who then shoved it into the maw of the hobbit before she could voice her own displeasure at being treated like some softheaded faunt.

            Of course, being a hobbit, arguments came well after food so Bilbo happily munched away at the morsel and allowed the elder Ur to direct her towards a small stump a bit further off from the fire, nearer Bombur’s pack. She barely acknowledged the warrior had stole off to secret away the whiskeyskin, especially as a moment later Bofur was budging her up and offered a plain silver flask of some true mountain fire whiskey with a cheery wink. She _may_ have giggled… Maybe. Fully middle-aged it wasn’t exactly dignified but she’d stopped caring sometime between slug number two and six. She did offer a piece of her cake to the pleasant miner though. Reciprocity made for better companionship after all. Though Bifur didn’t seem to think so as he got back and instantly started cursing at the younger dwarf and chasing him around the encampment.

            Bilbo watched the festivities cheerily as she continued to drain the flask. Really the pair was as bad as her addled cousins during Yule. Actually, the way Bifur had Bofur up that tree was _very_ reminiscent of how Uncle Hugo had once chased Herugar Bolger up the Party Tree after catching him with his hands a bit north of cousin Jessamine’s skirts. Never mind the pair were quite happily married now with a rather charming little faunt running about.

            “Aye, I’d know something about crazed cousins,” Glóin announced in his carrying voice as he swooped in and snatched her flask from her lax hands. Apparently she’d been thinking aloud. Maybe it was a better idea for the father to keep at the whiskey. But as per usual, she hardly heeded her own sound advice when the flamebeard turned the thing back to her.

            Instead she took another belt and made room for the dwarf on her stump. “Well let’s hear it Master Glóin! I’ve coin says my fools are greater than yer own!” she extended the flask again, gesturing a bit wildly as she offered. Really, this was some _fine_ whiskey.

            The father smirked a bit beneath his beard as he took a swig before turning a shrewd look at the lightly swaying hobbit at his side, then he knocked his head in Thorin and Dwalin’s direction across the camp, “Mine are goin’ te walk into a dragon’s nest after a sparkly rock.”

            Bilbo blinked at the smirking dwarf before turning her head to look at where Thorin was grumbling at Dwalin about something or other, both ensconced under the crumbling roof of the burnt out hovel that had Gandalf up in arms earlier that day. She turned back to the father and grabbed up the flask, upending the thing into her mouth before thrusting one of her coin purses at the laughing heathen, “The _hell_ is wrong with you dwarrow?! If you _know_ it’s a fool mission _why_ are you _here?!_ ” she all but growled as she glared at the chuckling dwarf.

            Glóin shook his head as he pulled his own flask from one of his secreted pockets and offered it to the seething burglar, nodding in appreciation as she pulled from it sharply and turned it back over to him. He was mildly impressed with the tiny lassie’s staying power, “It’s the honorable thing te do.” At the blank look he received for that he sighed and pulled hard from his own whiskey before turning it back, “I’ve a son, as well ye’ve heard. I’d have him know the lands of his father.”

            Bilbo scowled a little as she stared hard at the flask in her hand; it was something intricate, silver with rune work around the edges. And though she couldn’t read them she recognized the seal of Durin embossed in the middle as her fingers trailed over it, “I’d think having him grow with his father would be the greater good here.” Honey eyes got a bit misty as she turned the flask over to the father, staring him in the eye a moment as she continued, “I know I’d have faced legions if it would have brought mine back to me.”

            The father scowled a minute and reached over to hug the wee lassie, feeling his own paternal instincts kick him in the gut as the tiny creature looked at him all befuddled and lost. “Aye, an’ I’m sure he’d have tol’ ye right off fer it. Legions and evil beasts aren’t meant te be fought by children, it’s the task of fathers te make the world safer fer their babes.”

            Bilbo gave a soft chuckle as she sniffled a bit in the embrace, blood _singing_ as the alcohol really began to make her head swim. A moment later her laugh was loud and true as Bifur came bellowing over, causing Glóin to release the curly haired nuisance and go toe to toe with the overprotective dwarf. Bofur’s moaned, “Ye drank it _all_!?” had her popping up and giggling as she ran over to Bombur’s side, surprising the rotund dwarf where he’d been taking ladleful’s of the stew direct from the pot.

            Seeing the laughing flushed hobbit and his mournful brother he chuckled guiltily, “Uh, soup’s up?” and gave it another stir before offering a bit up to the weaving Halfling.

            “Can’t trust a wizard wit pipeweed o’ a hobbit wit whiskey,” Bofur groused as he came up to help his brother serve up dinner. Spying the level of the soup he yelped, “Bom! Ye damn near ate half the ration!”

            “He’s been a long time,” Bilbo found herself grousing as she slurped beside Bofur while he served out the rest of dinner. She scowled as she finished another ladle feeling the food settle happily with the whiskey, she couldn’t believe that batty bastard would up and abandon her with this lot in the middle of the Wilds. It wasn’t so much she thought they’d do anything to _her_ , she just didn’t want to be responsible for keeping these ridiculous creatures in one piece till the wizard had worked out his little snit.

            “He’s a wizard. He does as he chooses. Here, do us a favor and take these to the lads,” Bofur asked as he slapped Bombur away from the stew, “Stop it, ye’ve had plenty.” Well, idle hands and all that. Besides, she glanced over at where Glóin and Bifur were still growling at each other in Khudzdul, she wasn’t gettin’ near the fire whiskey again anytime soon from the looks of it. And _no_ , she was not weaving.

            “What have you lot done?” the hobbit’s glare could have skewered the pair of them where they stood. Both lads flinched at her dark tone as they turned to see their curious little burglar standing there with dinner in either hand, yet somehow managing to make the bowls seem more like weapons than sustenance.

            “We’ve encountered a… slight problem,” Fíli stated calmly, his flinch as the icy stare turned directly on him showed he had some little sense left in him.

            “The ponies,” Kíli went on to explain, “We had sixteen.”

            “Now there are… fourteen,” the blonde couldn’t look direr if his Uncle had run him through.

            Doing a quick head count Bilbo sighed as Kíli announced as they wandered into the pony paddock, “Daisy and Bungo are missing.”

            Looking at the terrified lads she hiccupped and blinked a bit at the pair, “Well, that’s not good. That is not good at _all_. Shouldn’t we tell Thorin? I mean, _I’m_ certainly happy to _walk_ to your bloody mountain, I’m sure he’ll understand the benefits of a good rambling jaunt.”

            She hadn’t realized Fíli still had blood to loose from his face, which he did quick enough as he announced in a stilted voice, “As our official Burglar we thought, you might like to look into it?”

            She’d just wandered closer to what appeared to be a tree that had apparently _mortally_ offended something wild, dangerous and the size of a small Oliphant. Looking back at the heir to the dwarf nation her face completely slack, tone deadpan (absolutely _not_ swaying), “Well it looks like something big uprooted these trees. How’s that for deductive reasoning?”

            “That was our thinking,” Kíli announced as though they were in lessons and he’d just been about to answer when someone else had shouted the correct response before he could have his chance.

            “Hey, there’s a light. Over here!” Fíli was off like a blur. With another long-suffering sigh Bilbo placed one of the bowls in the crook of her elbow and began slurping at the other. Not as though the lads deserved dinner after this debacle anyway. And if she was going to be in charge of cleaning up this mess she’d need the warm fare to clear her slightly swimming head.

            “What is it?” she asked as she continued to slurp up the stew. Bombur _really_ had a way with trail rations it was quite impressive. And she could do with something a bit more substantial bracing the whiskey in her system. Really, she wasn’t half sober enough for this (even if she definitely _was not swaying_ ).

            “Trolls.” The stew in her mouth went spewing into the air at Kíli’s dire announcement.

            She turned just in time to duck behind a tree as one of the lumbering beasts walk by with… _her_ pony! “It’s got Myrtle and Minty! They’re going to eat my _damn_ pony! What is this!? I can’t let that happen. We need to _do_ something!” She’d grown fond of the sweet-tempered creature; she didn’t deserve that kind of ending! Then it occurred to her alcohol sod mind what she’d just seen and how this mess started, “What in the Mother’s name were you _doing_ that _that_ walked by the pair of you with the bloody ponies?!”

            “Yes! You should! Do something! Mountain trolls are slow and stupid and you’re so small they’ll never see you. It’s perfectly safe! We’ll be right behind you.” Kíli declared excitedly as he relieved her of the rest of dinner, completely ignoring her last question (or the attempt to bite him when he took her food (really, not safe business, taking food from a sloshed hobbit (from any hobbit really, but _definitely_ not a sloshed one (not that she was _near_ drunk enough to be dealing with bleedin’ _Trolls_ (and she _wasn’t swaying damnit!_ ))))), this wasn’t the time for a row after all.

            With a scowl and a hard tug on both their braids she jumped over the forest debris and called back to them, “If the pair of you run into any more trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a brown owl. Otherwise stay the hell out of my way… _Maybe_ get Thorin. If it looks like I’m about to be dinner.” And she was off.

***

            “Trolls… of course its trolls. It couldn’t be three giant rabbits, or a pair of ducks, maybe a grumpy ferret. No, this is _my_ life. Thirteen dwarrow, three trolls, and one absent wizard,” Bilbo kept mumbling to herself as she clambered through the underbrush, staking out the situation ‘The Company’ ( _yes_ the capitals were required, because a group this full of fools needed a bleedin’ _title_ ) had found themselves in and blatantly ignoring the header she felt coming on as the last of the whiskey bruned out in her overtaxed system. She’d managed to get the ponies free easy enough. She may not be dressed as Nightshade but she wasn’t such a fool of a Took she would wander into the wilderness with nothing for protection. So one of the eight throwing blades she had holstered in the inside of her cheerful yellow vest made quick work of the ropes keeping the creatures corralled. And some handy Took training had her clutching the underbelly of Myrtle as the beasts stomped out of the troll encampment without so much as a hint of her having ever been there. The problems occurred when one of the damn trolls went to grab Myrtle, who was lagging due to a bashed up ankle. That’s when Kíli decided it was time to intervene.

            When the lad came out of the brush and attacked one of the trolls she’d wanted to cry. Then the blighter had decided to open his bloody mouth, “Leave her!” and twirl his wee sword about like he was on display. Well the troll was as entertained by this pomp as she was and threw the ruddy cooking spoon at the halfwit. And that’s when all hell broke loose.

            Bilbo released herself from Myrtle, letting the beasts run as far away as anything sensible bloody well should and watched from the brush as her companions were all captured, stripped and tied up in wee sacks.

            She _really_ wasn’t drunk enough. Adrenaline had that effect, mind clearing as it was. And now she found herself cold sober and damn near _blinded_. She’d never wanted to see nearly that much of _any_ of the Company (though Nori wasn’t too much of a disappointment, save for the long johns). Either way, this saw her skulking, unseen, through the dark as she tried to come up with something half clever. She needed to buy some time. And what kind of thief would she be if she couldn’t steal some of that? Well, here went nothing.

            “Oye! I hope you aren’t actually thinking of plating this lot!” she announced as she strut forward into the clearing and went over to the nearest troll, patting his shin to get his attention.

            “What are you doing? You can’t _reason_ with them! They’re halfwits!” Dori shouted at her from his vantage point high up there on the spit one of the trolls was turning.

            Bofur, bless him, looked beyond put out as he asked in aggrieved shock, “Halfwits? What does that make us?!”

            The big one with the ladle looked down in shock as the other two watched him for a clue as to how to deal with her. They’d obviously never had a civil conversation with something they perceived as dinner before, “Oh? And why would tha be? Come ta save your little friends then?”

            She didn’t scream when she found herself man handled by a hand the size of a cow but it was a close thing. She contented herself by knowing the dwarrow were doing enough screaming for the lot of them. Nori and Bofur were being rather prolific in their threats of bodily harm, especially for dwarrow who were currently hanging upside down from a spit. Instead she rolled her eyes and asked as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Do I look like a dwarf? I haven’t the hair or the disposition, thank you very much.”

            The smaller one that kept going cross eyed… in the _wrong_ direction, came up to stare at her and asked, “Then wat are ya then?”

            She made herself chuckle, it came out more like a wheeze but, hey, points for trying, “I’m a burglarhobbit. We’re renowned for our cooking skills. Haven’t you ever heard of us?”

            The big one was back, and he wasn’t as stupid as the rest, “No, and what’s a buglarhobbit doin’ out here anyway?” Chef troll had begun to, apparently, view her more as an agent of aid and allowed her to merely sit in his upraised palm instead of _being palmed_. Much more comfy, still entirely too smelly though, and it had the unfortunate side effect of recalling one of her Uncle Fosco’s favored phrases, ‘one in hand beats two in the bush’.

            She blinked up at that slack wit, “Why, hunting dwarrow, of course. Or Elf maybe. Whatever happened by really. I have a lovely recipe for dwarf mince meat pie and an equally attractive one for elf stew. But not these lot, I’ve been watching for a few days, and between their cleaning habits and their scent it’s obvious they’ve gone off.” Well, now ‘The Company’ was screaming for a completely different reason. Dwalin had just called her a traitor and Fíli was saying how this was _not_ proper retribution for their misguidance this evening. Why did she leave home?

            “WHAT?!” the chef and cross eyes looked horrified by this turn of events.

            “What are you yammering ‘bout?! Meat don’t go off bafore it’s kilt!” Ah, so this one was using the brain now. She was having a time tracking its movements.

            The other two were nodding and glaring again so she swiftly announced, “Of course but they _can_ get parasites beforehand, can’t they? And the stink on this lot is as pungent as any I’ve had the misfortune. I’d say they’re _full_ of ‘em.”

            “Did he say we ‘ave parasites!?” Óin’s hearing was remarkably selective apparently.

            “We don’t have parasites! _You_ have parasites!” And Kíli wasn’t using the _half_ brain he shared with his brother at the moment. Apparently Thorin was in charge of all mental faculties as he stomped on his nephew to get him to wise up.

            A moment of blessed silence, they may get out of here yet. If that grey blur would only move his _ass_!

            And then it all jingled its merry way to hell once more.

            “I’ve got parasites the size of my arm!”

            “I’ve got the biggest parasites! I’ve got _huge_ parasites!”

            Bilbo wondered, as the hand holding her began to close again, if they’d allow her to request they eat Óin and Kíli first.

            “Yes, I’m riddled!” Ori was so precious.

            “Yes, we are, badly,” how the hell did Nori come from the same stock as Ori and Dori? The pair sounded like they were reading off a bloody script.

            Before the hand could imprison her, however, the only one with any sense around here jumped onto a boulder and announced, “ _The dawn will take you all_!” and released sunshine into the alcove. As she cringed in the hand it turned from flesh to stone under her and before her very eyes. Heaving a large sigh she collapsed onto her back in the grip and waited for Gandalf to help the lads out of their predicaments.

            Once released, Kíli came to the base of the troll she was still on, “Bilbo! It’s all right! Come down, I’ll catch you!”

            Revenge was sweeter when bruises accompanied it. She’d landed comfortably enough on top of the lad, groaning as she rose, “Don’t think for a minute you catching me will save you from anything. This is still all your fault.”

            She stomped off over to the sanctuary that was Bofur, grumbling in indignation, who snagged her into a sideways hug as he finished shrugging his tunic back on, pants still nowhere to be found, “Swift thinkin’ there lass, you’re the only halfwit of the lot. No whole wit would willingly walk into a troll’s dinning room, sorry darlin’.”

 

[1] Cannon. She did just this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's what I'm planning for the immediate future. I've got so much shit happening in my head, it needs rehashing in real life for some parts of my Bilbo to make sense, I feel. So I'mma work on a few one shots that make a more complete pic of Bilbo's thieving past and her relationship with some of the dwarrow. Then I'mma link each of the respective one shots to the reference in the main chapter story for convenience sake, and cause I just learned how to make a link in html so I feel like a kid with a new toy and want to play with it till I break it.


	6. I Like Rabbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that depending on the type of rabbit they call a group of them different things? Like a Jackrabbit or Hares are Husks, but a domesticated squad is a Herd. Generalizations are allowed, they are Colony, Warren, (my fave) Bury, Trace, Trip. And baby bunny bundles are just a Littler or Nest.
> 
> Unrelated: Group of Raccoons? A Gaze!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has taken a bit of time to get up here, between the back story pieces and the I didn't WANT a reveal here but apparently it's gonna kinda happen anyway and totally against my fuckin' will. Just want it in writing I am fully protesting… myself? I don't even know anymore. Fuck it, enjoy!

            Bilbo looked, and looked, and looked again. Shook her head, rubbed her eyes, turned in a circle and looked some more. Then she turned to her left, arms crossed, hand leveled over her mouth as her eyes beseeched Bofur in a stage whisper, “You see rabbits to, right?”

            The cheery miner smiled his brilliant grin and nodded enthusiastically, “Looks tha way, lass. A right flock o’ ‘em.”

            “I think it’s actually a herd.”

            “No’ a litter?”

            “Could be a down. I think I heard my Gardner cursing about a down of rabbits once.”

            “Now wou’ tha’ be in reference to the fluff? These lot don’ seem that particularly fluffy.”

            “No, I suppose they don’t. They look more like Jackrabbits.”

            “Oh, a husk then!”

            “Like corn?”

            “Jus’ tha same.”

            “Well then,” and with that the battered, beaten and exhausted young Burglar sank to the ground, only mildly encumbered by her new sword and found herself with a lap full of bunny. The giant creature was practically her size, and actually very fluffy as it nosed her face with its twitchy little muzzle. Looking up at the now laughing prospector she glared as she pet the streamlined body, impressed with the musculature on the uncannily large critter, “I like rabbits.”

            “An’ they seem to have an affinity for you too lass,” Bofur continued to chuckle while the lot waited off to the side, grumbling about wizards and their nonsense. Entirely too tired to care about their hurts and bothers she concentrated every fiber of her being on the bunny in her arms. Anything to avoid the curious glances she’d been receiving from Nori that had now doubled with the Troll incident. It was bad enough it had happened at all, but the fact that she’d just, in essence, burgled a baker’s dozen of dwarrow from a trio of lumbering idiots was not aiding her in maintaining anonymity. She’d gotten too close to those damn Blue Mountains when her mother had passed, too lonely to take heed of the potential dangers.

            As she’d sunk deep and fast into a half daze with the warm rabbit, relative silence, and the rhythmic stroking she didn’t realize when Bifur had sat on her right and begun signing with his cousin. His shoulder check was all that was required for her to tune into the conversation the pair’d been having.

            _What do you think about that one?_

_I don’t like it. Bad enough one wizard, two is just asking for trouble._

_Now, cousin, he don’t seem too dangerous. And he’s a friend of Tharkûn. And the rabbits seem to like our little thief over here._

_Of course the thrice bedamned wizard knows someone who wonders around Middle Earth in a rabbit drawn sled. Come now, what did you expect him to use? Horses? How trite._ Watching as the Grey One shared a draft of his pipe with the Brown One she gave a derisive snort and continued in a scathing tone, “I’m beginning to think all one need to be a wizard in these lands is a drug habit and long robes[1].”

_Still don’t like it._

            Bilbo was chuckling quietly as she continued to pet her fuzzy friend, entertained by Bifur’s glaring at the gamy wizards. It took her a moment to realize the mistake she’d made in signing her comment about Gandalf to her toy making friends. When she did her body near snapped in half with tension causing the rabbit to run back to its pack. Glancing up she saw Bifur was still glaring at the rabbits, but Bofur was watching her intently, mild shock riding through his expression as his brow lowered in thought. His mouth moved in a silent ‘how’ before he saw the amused grin on his cousin’s face. Turning back to the scared stiff hobbit at his side he, slowly, reached out and smoothed down soft curls as he’d done hundreds of times before, though normally to meet the slick feel of the hood of a cloaked visage…

            Before either of them could say anything else there was a howl in the distance that had the three jumping to their feet.

            “Wolves?” she asked, her voice near desperate for someone to confirm what she knew damn well wasn’t the case.

            “Wolves? No, that is not a wolf,” Bofur mumbled as he swung his mattock up and grabbed the wee lass to secure her behind him. Unfortunately the sweet gesture was ill fated as the beast in question was actually stalking his six, thus Bilbo was the one who near ended up on a menu once more that eve. The creature bowled into their midst with little to no grace, however, and ended atop Dori, having pushed the lingering Nori away with it’s girth. Thorin ended it with his elfish steel just as a second bounded up behind _him_. Felled by Kíli’s arrow and finished by Dwalin’s axe.

            “Warg scouts! Which means an orc pack is not far behind!” Thorin, King of the Not So Lonely Mountain (really there was a giant fuckin’ wyrm in it, not exactly dying for _company_ I’m sure) pointed out in his dire way that was just this side of tickling the increasingly aware of her own exhaustion hobbit.

            “Orc pack? Sure it’s no’ a bleedin’ parade?” Bilbo whispered into the back of her miner friend who’d yet to release her from the apparent safety of his back. Glancing around the clearing she was met with a pair of mutable eyes gone yellow brown as they watched Bofur grasping the tiny hobbit to his side. Dark brow furrowing at the observation, Bilbo near jumped out of her skin when Gandalf burst forth with a near snarl.

            “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?” the wizard looked near as commanding as he had in her smial before the shadow puppetry, as he advanced on their dwarrow leader.

            “No one,” the assurance was tempered with no small resentment at the question to his honor. And honestly, Bilbo could have told him the bloody dwarf wasn’t gonna be spoutin’ off to anyone. He barely managed civil conversation with his relations, who’d be daft enough to think he’d suddenly get all warm and feeling with someone outside dwarf kind?

            “Who did you tell!?” The demand was harsher now, grey eyes intent and searching for truth. It was in these moments Bilbo was reassured of Gandalf’s nature, not because he showed power or wisdom, but because he demanded the cessation of all bullshit. And it was never unheeded.

            The King was as frustrated as the wizard though, “No one, I swear! What in Durin’s name is going on?”

            The benign wizard returned, though he was taxed for his patience, “You’re being hunted!”

            “We have to get out of here” Dwalin, astute mastery of the arts of war and observation.

            “We can’t! We have no ponies! They’ve bolted!” as Ori cried out from behind her Bilbo suddenly understood the world was truly against her. And Bofur was beginning to question the wee one’s sanity, she kept mumbling something about ‘why can it never just be a bleedin’ _ferret_!?’

            “I’ll draw them off,” the pure conviction in the brown wizard’s voice almost swayed Bilbo.

            Almost, “You’ll be the appetizer, you mean?”

            “These are Gundabad wargs! They will outrun you!” Gandalf declared, once again reassuring the hobbit of his sense and dedication to the continuance of life.

            “These are Rhosgobel Rabbits! I’d like to see them try,” apparently, Bilbo was the only one willing to show her displeasure and disbelief at the overtly smug tone and look of the queer little (at least, compared to Gandalf) man in the fashion he deserved. Like he was completely starkers.

***

            So Bilbo _may_ have to reexamine her opinion of rabbits. Truly magnificent creatures, and she’d certainly enjoyed them beforehand. But _now_? _Now_ she needed to start a reserve and become their stalwart defender, obviously they were the greatest of all the Valar’s creations. What witty little wriggling wrinkled messes of fur and hope. They led those orc and warg a merry chase around the fields and away from the party of stealth challenged dwarrow. Rule number 27, it’s easier to hide one than it is five. Well, it was a hell of a lot harder with fifteen.

            Of course, that blasted wizard seemed to be having a wee bit too much bloody fun with this as he shrieked and hooted about as Gandalf led them from stone hiding place to stone hiding place. And then he’d all at once suddenly lost what little respect he’d managed to salvage from Bilbo as he seemed to double the cursed beasts back into the path of the Company!

            “Ori NO! Get back!” Thorin had to pull the over eager lad back from falling into the sights of the blasted pursuers as they cowered behind a rocky overhang. As Gandalf instructed them to continue on, Bilbo heard Thorin ask in an alarmingly surly manner, “Where are you leading us?” Under the usual circumstance, Bilbo would tell the King just where he could shove his inquiries, but as it was, she was suddenly very curious herself. These rocks were taking on an alarmingly familiar pattern, though her sleep deprived and adrenaline addled mind was having a time placing it…

            Somehow the lass found herself crouched between Thorin and Dwalin when a lone and enterprising warg rider, apparently in possession of the hive mind, made his way towards their group. She pressed closer into the wall, allowing Dwalin to secure his girth in front, listening, as it’s sharp claws scrapped over the rock and sent shivers down her spine. A hand steadied her as she breathed, turning she was surprised to find it wasn’t Bofur, but Nori as he reached behind the Guard and traced her bare knuckles. He didn’t look at her, concentrating on the warg as he was, but he seemed to be questing for something in the soft skin. With a grim tightening of her mouth she squeezed back and was rewarded with a momentary meeting of those mutable eyes, now swirling green in the brown from the open light and play of shadow. She turned back when she heard Kíli’s release and jumped as the warg fell from its perch with a roar, arrow in its neck. The rider leapt up and ran forward only to be dealt a swift blow by Dwalin’s axe as he moved on to finish the downed warg while Bifur’s spear and Thorin’s blade ended the orc. Unfortunately, neither had the grace to _die silently_!

            The look in Gandalf’s eyes was frightful as he saw the charging masses descending on them, “Move! Run!!!”

            They were found. The Company ran from their cover across the open field, Bilbo keeping time with the middle of the pack until she glanced back. She really shouldn’t have, it was rule 11 for Yavanna’s sake! Her father’s at that! Never look back! But she did, and she saw that bug eyed, rancid, mangy beast cut her Ur’s off from the troop. Seeing the family surrounded by three warg and five orc, two of which remained astride their beasts, was heart stopping. Not even a thought was spared as instinct and training overrode the hobbit; she was off like a light, sprinting across the field, unsheathing one of her favored butterfly swords from the sleeve of her tunic as she went. Feet away she fell into a slide, blade up and split one of the burdened wargs from nave to neck, guts littering the grass below and behind her. Using the last of her forward momentum she leaped into the air and twirled, elven blade flashing through black blood and the neck of the rider. Upon her landing she was engaged by the enraged cry of one of the remaining fiends, and, dropping her right shoulder, allowed the thing’s terrifyingly spiked cleaver to sail over her before unsheathing the second sword from her left sleeve and imbedding it into the thing’s neck. With a swift twirl she relieved her duel weapons from the oily sludge that passed for life’s blood in the children of Melkor. Placing the pair into a defensive stance she turned to take momentary stock of their situation.

            Bombur had his ladle heavily embedded into the cranium of the unburdened warg. He’d been trying to release the implement when he’d ceased in no little amount of surprise at the appearance of the tiny hobbit burglar they’d picked up in that peace-loving village. But Bifur and Bofur had managed to continue their campaigns, ending the last warg and the three orcs (two of which had rushed almost eagerly into the boar spear the elder carried, causing an entirely unappealing kabob effect).

            The cries of their fellows from further on spurred the group into motion as they met the brunt of the forces where they’d cornered them in the midst of a rocky opening. Kíli and Ori were acting as projectile cover for their family and friends, but they had no real cover for themselves save the rock behind them. And that had a nasty critter drooling as it leaped over the side. Without a thought, Bilbo loosed a throwing blade from her vest, shimmering like some lethal silver icicle into the eye of the beast, not taking the time to watch as it landed, dead, at Kíli’s feet, though Kíli took note of the sudden aid.

            The battle raged on, for orc, though vicious, were also viciously stupid and had very little battle sense. Their traditional strategy was to barrage the enemy with their never-ending forces until said enemy was either dead or retreated. Bilbo found herself weaving through the Urs, settling at Nori’s back as they danced through the fight. Whenever he ducked she’d dive. When he dodged, she’d follow through. Cutting and slashing, leveling the orcs with the thief’s longer ranged weapon, ending them with the burglar’s sharp push daggers. Bilbo was a whirlwind of grace as she flew under and over the star spiked quarterstaff, the dwarf unconsciously falling into step with the deadly Halfling. Slinging her final knife through the heart of an orc that’d come up behind Dori she traded dagger for sword twirling her glowing gift.

            Gandalf had slipped away as easily as his friend it seemed, and the dwarrow were growing tired with the continued clamor. It was beginning to seem hopeless when that gamy old man popped up from some shrubbery near a boulder (like some demented grey gopher!), “This way you fools!” as he slid back down wherever in hell’s name he’d come from. Thorin sent out the command to fall back, refusing to leave till the last of his men were safe. Bofur had grabbed her arm and was dragging her down towards their escape when the King let loose a roar, “KÍLI!” the likes of which she’d never hoped to hear. It was part desperate part command as the fool boy kept maintaining the retreating cover. As the lad turned a warg was taking a running leap towards him and was felled like his fellow, with a butterfly sword right through the eye. It was Bilbo’s last act before Bifur and Bofur threw her down the ramp and she tumbled into familiar concerned arms as Nori was waiting to sweep her up and drag her away as the last of the Durins followed. Gasping for breath after the exertion and fall she let herself be cradled against a hard body as she laid a weary head against a warm chest, only brought back to herself by the hand softly carding through her hair, pulling a whimper from her. Looking up she found concerned, tired eyes once again puzzling her out, as Nori retracted his slightly bloodied fingers, “Look what ye’ve done to yourself love.” She let her heart flutter just a bit at the familiar endearment before stamping on it and wrestling the treacherous thing into submission.

            She smiled faintly as she whispered back, “Had worse. Been better.”

            The horn that bellowed into their dank haven sent a hitch into the otherwise ragged breath of all cursed with a hearing nature as Bilbo fell away from the arms of her supporting thief, readying her elfish blade once more. Blood was seeping into her hair where a stray claw had found a home before being ripped off by an over eager Bifur and she was favoring her left leg from the running sweep she’d given when diving to her dwarrow’s aid but she’d still some pep in her sword arm.

            The whizzing of arrow fire sounding like demented underlie to the chorus of death cries and desperate attempts to rally as the orc fell to what was above caused no small amount of confusion.

            When one of the bodies came tumbling into the sanctum, she found herself wrenched away as Gandalf twirled his staff to meet it. Bilbo had reached a new level of hysteria, however, and demanded in heaving breaths, “What are you going to do with that?! _Blind it_? Step back and let someone with a _pointy_ stick handle the fighting you gamy bastard!” Her reward was a spattering of chuckles from her fans among the dwarrow, the soft vibration of mirth that traveled through Nori into herself as the dwarf came up and drew her back to resting on his chest. Gandalf’s baleful stare as he righted himself upon realizing the thing was dead, and Thorin’s tired smirk as he moved past her to investigate the arrow sticking from its head almost made living through the day worth it.

            Upon closer examination of the fletching he spat in a tone marked with the disgust Bilbo usually reserved for cold, burnt porridge, “Elves!” and thrust the thing from his sight.

            “I cannot see where the pathway leads! Do we follow it or no!?” Dwalin’s concerned request broke the tense moment as Gandalf tried to display his disgust with the childlike dwarf and Bilbo tried to keep her own giddiness at having avoided what was only going to be the most abominable reunion she’d ever had from showing (really, she was one ten minutes rest away from performing a wee jig).

            “Follow it of course!” Bofur was obviously becoming rather disgusted with exactly how much stupid he was dealing with as he stomped over and past the Guard. He’d never been overly fond of the dwarf, as he’d met him under some rather tried circumstance, that being the bleeding body of a wee lassie. After the time he’d had the night before, being trussed up by a trio of half-bred halfwits and then the mighty chase of the rabbit husk, he was at his wits end.

            “I think that would be wise,” Gandalf’s statement was calm and curiously cheery for someone who’d been about to potentially _spank_ the Durin King.

            “Are ye sure? I was thinking with some throw pillows and a decorative mirror this would make a lovely new smial!” Bilbo groused as she found she too was done with the dunderheads in charge of keeping her head attached to her neck, nor was she enjoying the entirely too jolly look on the old wizard’s face. At this rate they’d need to hire not only another Burglar but also about ten or so more lads to get the deed done (she was assuming Thorin and Dwalin would make it through as the Valar were really quite fond of idiots, it was a grand joke to them). Either way, the party began their trek through the narrow tunnels, Bilbo following close behind Bifur as the old warrior had dragged her forward with a growl for Nori. The thief had merely raised his hands in peace before falling back to be with his brothers. There were a few spaces that poor Bombur got a tad stuck but it was little more than a love tap to get him going again.

            It didn’t take long to stumble out into what was possibly one of the loveliest sights Bilbo had ever seen in her life… nearly twenty-five odd years ago. It hadn’t diminished, the glowing city ensconced in a valley surrounded by mist off waterfalls, naturally falling and formed. The Elves were hardly ones to besmirch what the Mother had given them

            “The Valley of Imladris. In the common tongue it’s known by another name,” that smug, tricky bastard.

            “Rivendell?!” Bilbo’s glare almost rivaled Thorin as she stared the _so_ unrepentant wizard down. With a huff she stomped off as best she could with a limp, muttering as blood leaked into her eye from the cut on her hairline. 

[1] Joke courtesy of CinemaSins on Youtube. HILARIOUS! Hopefully they won’t mind the blatant plagiarism. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LDhsH79jAY


	7. Bloody Treeshaggers!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so this things is a beast. It's something like fourteen oneshots in one cohesive conglomerate. Each Day is Numbered and Titled though so it should be relatively easy to keep track of the hell's happening when.
> 
> I really wasn't sure this was actually going to post without sacrificing a goat, well done Archive.
> 
> I swear half the reason this shit took so long to post is cause I continuously find myself fucking with it -.-'
> 
> Dear God it's 61 pages long by itself. The entire thing is only 120 pages thus far. This is a monster. I have created a monster. What have I done!? OH THE HUMANITY!

** Day One ** ** : Arrival **

 

            On the walk towards the gates of Imladris Bilbo’s bristling gave way to bone tiredness. It probably helped she was partially concussed, or at least she supposed she was, those warg had _heavy_ paws! Either way, she was sleepier than anything else when the Company finally found their way to the bridge that would lead them into the Elven House. She was, of course, the only one present with this relaxed attitude concerning their whereabouts. Thorin had instantly had a huff about it and the wizard’s obvious calculation regarding their circuitous route to the hidden passage. “This was your plan all along? To seek refuge with our enemy!” it was truly amazing the amount of menace the male could embody when staring down a wizard twice his height.

            “You have no _enemies_ here Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!” of course, being of an age to be grandfather to almost every living creature _in_ Arda at almost _any_ given time, Gandalf managed to make everyone sound like a petulant little cuss in need of a nap. That included one Miss Bilbo Baggins when he sent her a mildly annoyed glare from under his bushy brow at her none too subtle snort at the mention of ill will. She had plenty of ill will to spread about the place at the moment and she didn’t give a rat’s ass in Mordor if that made her seem childish, honestly she’d welcome the nap.

            “You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?” Thorin’s sarcasm was always rift with dire meaning and a tempered insult to the recipient’s intelligence. Actually, for that matter so was Thranduil, and being the two of only three kings of an age she’d met, Bilbo wondered if perhaps there was a code to the rearing of rulers that insisted they make themselves out to be something of a ponce every now and again. It would certainly explain the dire straights Middle Earth tended to find itself in. “They will try to stop us.” Elrond would do better with young Estel’s rearing.

            “Of course they will, but we have questions that need to be answered,” like why any of them thought this was a bloody good idea to begin with? “If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact and respect. And no small degree of charm. Which is why _you_ will leave the talking to me.” It’s a good thing Bofur was looking out for the tiny hobbit because she’d have been turned into a toad or something equally slimy had he not grabbed her face and thrown her forward, away from the intense conversation, Bifur and Bombur taking up their rear as the hobbit tried to stop laughing.

            But she did keep all of Gandalf’s warning in mind as they made their way down into the city and towards the gates. When the dark haired elf in all his finery and genteel nature came down the steps that led to the entrance of the Last Homely House Bilbo gave Gandalf a down right _charming_ grin before turning to their greeter, “Figwit!”

            She wasn’t sure whose reaction she cherished most in that moment. Gandalf’s none too swift attempt to thwack her as she dodged his staff, Lindir’s frozen stance as horror replaced the politely welcoming smile, or Thorin’s as he damn near lost his head when he turned entirely too swiftly and right into Gandalf’s missed swing. Her glee was short lived when that same horn from the cave blew. It signaled the return of the hunting party and it was as it shot straight through Bilbo’s tired ears into her throbbing brain that she decided she’d had enough fun for one eve. She was about to step forward and ask the musician to take her to her usual rooms when she felt Bofur grab her pack and thrust her into the circle of armed dwarrow. _“Ifridî bekâr! **[1]**”_ they closed ranks at their leader’s command. Ori who’d been thrown into the safety of the circle with Bilbo was fighting Dwalin for space in the guard and the rest were watching with vicious intent as they found themselves circled by horse riding warrior elves.

            It was the luminous blonde who saw Bilbo first, making eye contact with the wee hobbit in surprise that melted into amusement as she raised a brow in challenge. With a few uttered words in Sindarin Bilbo found herself turning swiftly to the joyful exclamation of _“Dúath **[2]**!”_ There, astride their twin mounts were the twin lordlings, Elrohir and Elladan, flanking either side of their father, a father who _had_ been looking at Gandalf and now only had eyes for the highly protected hobbit lass amidst his dwarrow guests.

            Elrond’s smile was all consuming as he dismounted and came closer to the unyielding wall of dwarrow, his sons close at his heels. Since her bodyguards weren’t going to move for the elf, Bilbo took it upon herself. She slammed through a weakening in the ranks, tripping as she passed through Dori and Glóin’s guard, and falling into warm arms as the Lord of Rivendell kneeled to welcome her back to his home. “Little Bilbo Baggins. It has been far too long.”

            Amber eyes shimmered with a certain dampness as she tightened her own grip, drawing in the familiar feel and scent of the elf who had welcomed two errant thieves into his world and saved the youngest one’s life at the end of her final heist, “It really has.” With a bit of a sniffle she moved back and smiled at her dear friend.

            The grey-eyed Lord’s brow furrowed as he reached his hand upwards and shifted some dried and matted curls away from the claw marks beneath. He held her at arm’s length, observed the favoring of her left leg and raised his eyes once more, now filled with exasperation, “And you’ve once again come to me in far worse order than I’d left you. Really Bilbo, I’ve half a mind to keep you locked in your rooms. If only I thought that would _actually_ keep you from coming to harm, little one.”

            “Please father! She is _Dúath_!” Elrohir announced as he stooped to the hobbits height and ruffled the hair from the back, careful to avoid the wound.

            “If you lock away a flower it would just whither. Bilbo is far more entertaining loose and wild as she is,” Elladan had always been the more elegant of the two, in speech and manner. He reached out and trailed a white hand through the dirty curls on the left side of her face.

            “And exactly when were you planning on telling us you _knew_ the elves?” Till this point, Bilbo had been making a rather good show of ignoring the rustling and exclamations happening behind her. She’d pointedly turned a deaf ear to the din she’d caused when she’d thrown herself through the guard and into the arms of the ‘enemy’. Glóin’s attempt to wrench her back had failed when Gandalf had pinned the handsy dwarf with his staff’s point, and the scuffle that had caused went unheeded (though had she turned she’d have been very entertained to see the wizard teeter as the red haired dwarf puled back on the offensive length of enchanted wood). Dwalin’s mutterings of Halflings being half elf was likewise ignored, as were the subsequent comments from Óin and Dori about the pointy ears on the lass. But Thorin was not one you could ignore in the best of situations, with his grumbling dissatisfaction at this latest surprise, and from the tiny burglar he’d been loathe to take with him to begin with, he was far from diaphanous.

            Happily, it wasn’t for Bilbo to deal with. Elrond’s paternal side come to the fore when the Hobbit’s tired eyes turned a bit glazed and her shoulders slumped further, he stated concernedly, “I don’t think you should walk…”

            To which she replied tiredly, “Pride is the luxury of halfwits and Kings,” before lifting her hands in an up motion. He complied and handed her off to the waiting Glorfindel. The blonde epic who cheerily ignored the growl from the tiny hobbit lass, barely a third his height, before settling her in his arms, well away from the grumbling forces of her fellows. None of who took the sudden overly familiar treatment of the lass with any amount of grace. Particular threat came from Bofur and Bifur as they began to jostle forward, glaring and threatening the ancient. Not one to take such treatment without some entertainment, the ponce whispered into her pointed ear, “Well what an army you’ve amassed for your next venture little _marta **[3]**_.” The brightening of her cheeks and the swift elbow check she gave the instigator was not taken any better than the closeness he’d engaged to talk with her. Truly, only his skills honed over millennia saved him from the blade that was thrown at his bent head, and only his continued grip on her kept a suddenly seething Nori from bodily attacking where his projectile had failed as Dwalin and Bombur were engaged in retaining the toymakers.

            While this was happening Elrond was blissfully ignoring the childish game of ‘My Hobbit!’ and staring down at the dwarf King before him, “We have known the Lady Bilbo for some years now. She and her mother are considered Elf Friend, though what she is doing here, now, in such esteemed company is rather curious, wouldn’t you say Mithrandir?” Elrond’s gaze was curious and not a little icy as he stared at the Istari.

            The wizard had the tact to look mildly chastened as he stepped forward. “It is true, young Bilbo is here at my behest-”

            “I’m here at the behest of no Man, Elf, Dwarf, or Wizard, Lord Elrond. I’ve come with my friends in search of refuge and aid as we stumbled upon a rather nasty Orc raiding party,” Bilbo’s answer was sharp as she stared back at her dear friend. Just because he was older and had fixed her up on more than one occasion (particularly carefully after her trip into Moria), didn’t make him her caretaker. Besides, it wouldn’t help anything to watch the wizard get chastised by the elf, well, not in the matter of calming her dwarrow. It _would_ probably improve _her_ disposition _greatly_.

            The droll look she received from the father foretold further conversation on the matter but was well received with a cheeky smirk (one that had Bifur and Bofur calming down quite a bit, and Nori staring harder still), _“Yes, we slew a number near the Hidden Pass.”_ Grey eyes lit with amusement as they turned back to Mithrandir, “Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders.” He finally disarmed his sword and handed it to the still chaffed Lindir in a sign of trust and open invitation by the Lord, his son’s following suit with a subtle look from their father (though Elrohir seemed a wee bit pouty at the thought). “Something, or someone,” he glanced at Bilbo as he turned back to Gandalf; the hobbit merely stuck her tongue out at the insinuation, “has drawn them near.” Really, it wasn’t _always_ her fault. That time with the bats fell completely at Lindir’s feet!

            “Ah, that may have been us,” Gandalf stated as he gestured to the Company.

            Thorin stepped forward as his dwarrow began to break rank, though their weapons were still held at the ready. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thráin” Elrond was never one to allow the opportunity to surprise _everyone_ standing in his halls.

            “I do not believe we have met,” little did Elrond realize he may have met his match, for where the elf had a very dry humor the dwarf king had none at all.

            “You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thráin when he ruled under the Mountain,” pleasant tidings from a Lord such as this.

            Thorin looked highly unimpressed as he digested this information. Turning to the elf once more, “Indeed, he made no mention of you.” A small _smack_ could be heard as Bilbo suddenly had her head in her hands. Glorfindel was quietly chastising her as this was hardly going to help her head wound. Elrohir was not so subtly using Elladan for support as he silently heaved in his mirth.

            Ignoring his offspring (though he was certainly questioning their existence) he continued to speak to Gandalf in Sindarin (and, by extension, Bilbo), _“Yes, he certainly has his grandfather’s bearings, and his skill for diplomacy. But I did not deny the elder hospitality nor will I the younger. Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor. Boe i annam vann a nethail vin. **[4]**”_

            “What is he sayin’. Does he offer us insult?!” Glóin fair spat as he wrangled forward, the rest of the party thrashing about as they processed the hard tone of the previous speech as ill tidings.

            “No, Master Glóin, he’s offering you food,” Gandalf looked about ten seconds from thwacking everyone below five feet in the head with his staff.

            “Eh, well. In that case, lead on!” The grumbled agreement completely overrode whatever their leader may have been thinking as the mass moved forward.

            “Are they dwarf or hobbit, _Dúath_?” Glorfindel asked in a hushed tone as he made his escape with the tiny lass to her rooms.

            With a shake of her tired head she yawned once before laying down onto the strong shoulder offered her, “Too hairy, lad. Far too hairy,” and she slept.

***

            She didn’t wake for dinner but she was woken when Gandalf requested her company at some meeting or other with Elrond and Thorin. Balin was there as well, both dwarrow were watching her in something akin to suspicion, though Balin was happy enough to see her wounds had been treated properly by the large blonde fellow. “Óin will still be wantin’ a look at ye later lass,” he stated after carefully looking over her wounded self a moment and softly patting her arm. She was sporting a lovely cooling poultice on her strained leg and a bandage around the treated head wound. Even so the advisor looked as thrilled with her inclusion in that nights events as his King. And what she was even _doing_ there was beyond Bilbo. She wasn’t a cartographer, not really at least, and there wasn’t any secret knowledge of ancient language hiding in her small form (never mind ancient dwarvish!). The best she could offer here was her knowledge of the areas they were planning to traverse, and since that knowledge was so far from common it extended to a mere spattering of elves with little to no sense of humor and a few dead people, she _really_ shouldn’t be anywhere _near_ this meeting!

            Yet, here she was. The only thing making Bilbo even marginally cordial was the plump apple from Elrond’s personal gardens he’d retrieved for her. She was cheerily munching at it from atop a pedestal near the argument, blissfully being ignored, left out of all the blustering and glaring to this point. Elrond was standing not far from her watching the play of characters as well, though he lingered more and more often on the hobbit. That ‘talk’ was drawing nearer and nearer, and wasn’t it beyond ridiculous she felt a resurgence of her ill ease as though she was awaiting a spanking?

            “Our business is of no concern of Elves.” If Thorin managed to lay any more disgust into that word it was going to manifest and beat him for the slight.

            “For goodness sake, Thorin! Show him the map!” That’s right Gandalf, that tone has worked wonders the entirety of the trip.

            “It is the legacy of my people. It is mine to protect. As are its secrets.” Bilbo was surprised, as she often found herself by the King, to see the solemnity Thorin held in this truth. He wasn’t pleased with the elves, true enough, but she didn’t think he’d be all that inclined to lend this courtesy to any. And it was only at that moment that she realized just what that map was to the dwarf, not the King, but the lad who’d lost his father and now had been gifted this piece of legacy.

            “Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves,” and though the sentiment in Thorin’s loyalty was touching, especially to the orphaned (for she would always be an orphan regardless of her age or the her age when she lost her parents) hobbit she had to agree with the wizard. This wasn’t going to keep anyone alive or restore a lost people. What was the use of a guarded legacy if it couldn’t be fulfilled?

            “Well it’s a very good job you’re doing then, protecting that thing’s secrets. Not even _you_ will know what they are at this rate,” she made a very specific point of not looking at the dwarf as she took another resounding chomp into her apple. Not that she needed the visual confirmation to imagine the scowl on his face at her interference. And though she agreed with his tacit opinion that this was no more her business than it was the elves, she’d been dragged away from her sinfully comfy haven to this nonsense so why should everyone else be spared for the disturbance?

            “Oh? And you would have me forfeit my birthright to these? Your _friends_?” the King was glaring up at the tiny annoyance as she swung her hairy feet this way and that. She’d bathed and changed in the time away from the Company, garbed in an elfish tunic and clean leggings underneath, white and silver knotwork glimmering in the moonlight. She wore it as though made for her, and seeing how close she was with these pointy eared devils, it probably was. She probably had her own rooms with an entire wardrobe stashed around these cursed halls. Amber eyes seemed to mock him over a mouth that was near overflowing with juice and pulp. “What _are_ you?! A Shireling who complained about missing handkerchiefs the entire way here, but the moment battle was upon us you jump forth as though bred to it? Enraged at the trickery that landed us here and then flying into the arms of that _elf_ that stands behind you and would take my people’s secrets? So much controversy in such a tiny shell.” The end statement dipped into a darker tone, the rest rampant with paranoia but the final show of disgust and ill hidden contempt as he crossed his arms and glared at her. It was clear the lass wasn’t gaining any allies here this eve.

            Sighing at the core of her apple she tossed it over her shoulder and into the air over the balcony. Turning, Bilbo glared down at the King in equal measure, “I am a Hobbit! We appreciate the comforts of home and the usefulness of our odds and ends. But I am also your burglar; you will take of that what you will but know this one thing. You,” she pointed swiftly at Balin where he stood behind his King watching the discussion. She didn’t continue until she’d caught and held his gaze for a tic, assured of his attention to her next words, “you possess my signature, and that is my bond. I will remain in your employ until I have done what I have been contracted to do. No sooner will I leave, no later will I stay.” Turning back to the King she allowed a sneer to replace the weary expression on her face, though why she bothered was beyond her, even from here she could sense the small smile Elrond always had when she tried to be anything resembling fierce in his presence. Save _her_ from _elfish_ nonsense. “Was it not your own nephew whose aid my knife flew? I would sooner question the stars and sun than the good fortune that has befallen you that Gandalf actually knew what he was doing when he traipsed you lot into my smial.”

            The face the King gave her was nothing near contrite, but her meaning had sunk in as he withdrew, barely. He would not attack the one who’d saved his kin, at least not so recently after the fact. Gandalf had watched the interaction and shook his head as he interjected, “Your pride shall be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few on Middle Earth who can read that map. _Show it_ to Lord Elrond!”

            Glancing from the tiny burglar where she sat perched, staring at the ground worrying her lip now that she’d stated her piece, to the elf, where he’d remained silent and watchful the entire time. The King made his decision, unsheathing the map.

            “Thorin no!” Balin made to stop the lad but it was done and there was nothing he could do. The elder dwarf turned to frown at the lass and saw only the small smile on her face as she watched the making of history.

            “Erebor,” the concern was easily read on the Lord’s face as he engaged the dwarf King’s gaze. Frown marring his ethereal face Elrond continued to question, “What is your interest in this map.”

            Thorin began as if to answer before Gandalf intruded, “It’s mainly academic.” The snort Bilbo made for that remark saw her none to gently pushed from her perch by the annoyed wizard. She met the ground with a tired ‘Ouch’ as Elrond turned a considering look on the pair. Brow raised he continued to the balcony, examining the map in the light. With a pointed look to both annoying miniatures from where Balin was helping the addled and damaged one to her feet, and a quick prayer for patience or a heavier staff, the Grey One continued as though nothing untoward were taking place. “As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text. You still read ancient Dwarvish, do you not?” the last was asked in an uplifted voice, charmingly as ever. Bilbo was almost sure the perplexing fool thought this was going to work.

            _“Cirth Ithil,”_ came the curious response, for even if Elrond wasn’t particularly enthralled with the actual reason a pack of dwarves led by _Thorin Oakenshield_ should be curious about a map leading to Erebor, he was first and foremost a scholar.

            “Moon runes. Of course.” Turning to the audience Gandalf smiled benignly, “An easy thing to miss.” His scowl was fleeting as he saw the disbelieving look on the burglar’s face and he turned to watch the Elf Lord once more.

            “Well in this case that is true; moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.” The dry smile was for Thorin’s benefit but the glance towards the wizard and Bilbo spoke a different tale entirely. That talk would come _tonight_.

            “Can you read them?” such a lovely one tracked mind, the King Without a Mountain.

            A nod was his answer as the Lord continued, natural teacher that he was, demonstrating in the light of the moon on the balcony, “These runes were written on a Midsummer’s Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield; the same moon will shine upon us in a fortnight hence. I can offer you and yours the comforts of my home until such time as we can decipher your legacy.” The look the dwarf King had on his face would lead one to think the Lord had just offered him a stay in the bog that was barely a day’s jaunt from the Valley. But in the end a combined need to actually know for the quest’s sake, and that of a child’s desire for that connection with his father, saw the dwarrow boarded in the guest suites of Rivendell.

            As Thorin and Balin left to tend their men Gandalf tried to spirit the young hobbit away, Bilbo glad to aid in the escape only to be stopped by the ‘tone of power’, “And exactly when has Lady Bilbo been so curious of cartography to engage her unique services to displaced Kings?”

            Gandalf’s eyes closed as he tried to maintain his dignity. Turning he smiled at the Lord who was standing in front of them glaring harshly at the old man. “As I recall, the last time little _Dúath_ was led into an arrangement with yourself, Mithrandir, she came back to this House bleeding, broken, and burned. And from what I know of Erebor, I fear I begin to see a pattern emerging.” The Elf Lord’s frown was as all encompassing, as his smile had been when she first arrived, his stride harsh and agitated as he marched towards the cowering pair, “And as for you, _Tinnúviel **[5]**_ , is your word, which you claim as your bond, so fleeting you have forgotten the one you gave me after that ill fated venture not so many years past? Do these dwarrow know of your last engagement? Do they even know who you are?”

            Bilbo knew this would not be an easy meeting, she’d hoped to avoid it all together. After her last heist, the one that had pushed the tiny thief into permanent retirement, she’d sworn to herself and the healer that she would never engage herself into something so recklessly dangerous again. Yet here she stood before him, asking for directions into a dragon’s den. Even she knew the chances of this ending in her being flambé were staggering. There was nothing she could say that would make this venture feasible or wise, even the glib tongued wizard would have nothing that could sway the Lord.

            Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try, _“My word is my bond, father-friend. You know this well. But I would not forsake my family to keep it. If this makes it fleeting I wear the shame proudly. I would no sooner abandon you or your sons to something as dire, you cannot ask me to abandon my Uncles and friends, whether they see me as favorably or not.”_ Amber eyes flashed in the moonlight, turning them almost gold in ire, yet there was no small amount of fear in the tension the little one was carrying in her shoulders and mouth as she stared up at him. Elrond and Rivendell had become a second home to her and her mother. The pair had visited often during their years gallivanting about Middle Earth, and, later, Bilbo had found a solace in the calm surroundings and cheery elf friends that she’d never thought to feel again with her mother gone. To lose this now would hurt, badly. She wouldn’t normally risk her friend’s ire in this fashion, but she would not choose one family over another. The idea of little Ori facing a dragon with only his slingshot, or Bofur trying to sneak around a trove as the great beast stalked him sent chills down her spine. The image of Nori aflame as he protected his brothers had tears prickling at her eyes, one escaping to slide down her cheek, Bilbo’s head falling to hide her distress, closer to the surface due to her stress and lack of sleep.

            The soft, pale hand fit under her chin as easily as it had before, though now it was detecting wounds of a weary heart in a creature too young, in his view, to have dealt in such troubling matters. Grey eyes, silver in the moonlight, stared into the golden hues and a rueful smile relieved some of the strain in the large heart of the tiny creature, _“I would not have you choose one family over another, gwend **[6]**. But I do ask you take care and caution. Even my skill cannot save you if you are so far from home.” _ The teary smile was well received, and rewarded by a hard stare up at the Grey Wizard, “I will read those runes in a fortnight, Mithrandir, and you _will_ ensure her safety. Or we will have words. We still have much to talk about this night.” Turning from the sheepish wizard back to the thief he smiled once more and ran a hand over the band at her head, “Rest, heal. But do not think this is the last of our conversation. You are travel worn and weary so we will postpone. While you are here, at least, I may fulfill the promise I made your mother and keep you safe.”

            With no more than a glance at Gandalf to see he was nodding her along she was racing through the halls, silent, as was her wont, towards her large fluffy feather bed. Entering her room she leapt into the air and dove into the covers and pillows, moaning as they fit the contours of her depleted body.

            So depleted she didn’t register the wizened eyes and over large ears that had been watching and listening to her conversation with the Elf Lord

 

** Day Two ** ** : Dodging Dwarrow **

 

            “ _Damn these elfish locks!_ ”

            “ _Shh!!!_ ”

            Bilbo’s eyes snapped open, heart racing and muscles tensed for action where she sprawled on her back amidst a veritable nest of down and silks. Pointed ears twitched as she propped herself up with her hands behind her, catching the sounds of scratching on the rooms door. Turning curious eyes to the entrance she saw the delicate knob twitch this way and that, rattling as it did so. As she reclined there she could hear cursing coming from the other side, followed by some rather dubious thumping and a hurriedly hushed yelp.

            “Fíli this is impossible! Lets just break it down!”

            “Would you _shut up_!? You’re going to wake her!”

            “How do you know she isn’t already awake?”

            “Because I imagine she’d come storming out to fillet you for yowling like a cat in heat!”

            There was a scuffle as the pair of twits trying to _stealthily_ break into her room dissolved into brotherly ‘affection’.

            Glaring at the door now, Bilbo softly rose to her feet and made her way to the chest at the foot of her over large nest that contained her spare clothes for her visits. Seeing the elfish tunics laid within carefully pressed and scented with sandalwood and lavender a small smile quirked her pouty lips as she changed, keeping a careful eye to the door. More cursing and a few bouts of obvious moaning were making its way through the structure as she cinched the creamy white silk to her form with a length of deep brown. The tunic was sleeveless, nodding to the fair weather of Imladris, and fell to her mid thigh. Hugging her plump form as it went, it was almost as comfy as her patchwork robe, and was nicely complimented by the brown leggings she wore underneath.

            There was a sudden pounding on the door, rattling the thing in its hinges that caused the tiny burglar to jump and stare at the portal in wide-eyed incredulity. What were they _doing!?_ Did they really think she wouldn’t wake to the sounds of a fucking _battering ram_?!

            Apparently not, for instantly the pair fell deafeningly silent, she could hear as they tried to still their breathing, failing entirely. After a moment she raised a single black brow and feigned a snore or two. They obviously heard it as the tinkering with the doorknob began again.

            Rolling her eyes, throwing her arms in the air in disgust she walked to the small basin on a hobbit sized vanity and began pulling a creamy bone brush through her curls. The small water basin eased the process, though she continued to struggle with the tangles. As she began to part her tresses to twine into a thick braid she heard a surprised yelp from her would-be intruders.

            “Fíli! Put it back!”

            “I’m trying! It’s this shoddy weed eater metalwork damnit! How was I supposed to know the thing would just snap off?”

            “How are we getting in now? You couldn’t include the actual _locking mechanism_ when you tore the knob off?!”

            “You think you could do better?!”

            “I _know_ I could do better!”

            “I’d love to see you try!”

            “Move over and I will!”

            “Get out of the _way_!”

            “Just let me _do it_!”

            “You’re going to break it _again_!”

            “No I won’t!”

            Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce the line of Durin. Shaking her head, completely disillusioned, the thief strapped her new elfish blade to her hip, securing the remaining butterfly blade to her left arm, and deposited her pack into the seamless cubby behind her bed’s left side table. A second crash was heard from the door, accompanied by the angry yelps and shouts of a brawl as she opened her window and popped up onto the ledge. With one last droll look at her newly broken door the hobbit lifted her legs over and out the edge to drop down into the back garden. Fucking idiots.

***

            “This way!” Kíli called back to his brother as he skidded around a corner of the hall and was suddenly faced with an entirely empty hallway. It was littered with arches that led out onto another green infested balcony, over looking even _more_ greenery below.

            Fíli raced up behind his brother, blue eyes glancing around the apparently empty hall distrustfully, “Are you sure she went this way?”

            “Seeing as the rest of our people are content to remain corralled in that alcove the leaf eaters gave us? Unless the twinkly bastards have started coming in something resembling sensible size it would have to be her.” Dark eyes gazed through the small garden and the younger Durin nodded, “Let’s look through the greenery, hobbits like that stuff right?”

            Bilbo supposed it was in poor taste to merely watch on from her perch atop the roof of the walkway as the pair traipsed through what she knew to be a particularly annoying thistle shrub the elves kept for its healing sap, but she couldn’t help if she wished for something amusing as she finished her breakfast. As she silently scrapped the rest of her porridge with the last of her bread a dark smile danced across plump cheeks as yelps and shouted curses peppered the courtyard.

            Once Fíli had managed to disentangle himself and Kíli from that hellish attack bush he dragged the younger back to the hall only to glare at the empty bowl that littered the floor.

            Seeing his brother’s face, peppered in tiny furry green spikes and looking particularly thunderous, Kíli turned to the offending flatware, eyes narrowing, “Oh, what a bitch.”

***

            Óin had been anything but gentle as he’d spent an hour on each of the princes, tweezing the thistles out of hair, hands, arms, legs, and in Kíli’s case, ass (and how in Mahal’s graces he’d managed that was anyone’s guess, clothed as he’d been). So the pair was wrapped in bandages, sticky with salve, smelling of tinctures that did little to _nothing_ for their humor, no matter how offended the tree shaggers looked as the pair stormed the city.

            What they didn’t know was, as they stomped into what appeared to be a library, the noxious odor served the purpose of alerting their tiny prey. So when they’d finally made their way into the book fortress she’d already squirreled herself up a shelving unit and sat perched high above them, barely containing her humor.

            The pair of dwarrow searched the corners and aisles; sure they’d find their missing hobbit. Hadn’t she had her own large collection of tomes in her homey burrow? And Fíli still recalled the rather fierce feather quill she’d defended them with when he’d been poking around her desk. Rubbing his head in remembered pain he caught a sudden flash of cream and brown out of the corner of his eye. Turning swiftly he saw the very lass perched above he and his brother like some chubby gargoyle, long braid falling over her left shoulder as she smiled down at them. “Kíli!” It was only as he heard his little brother racing back to his side that he recognized the amount of malice that tempered the smirk on their burglar’s face. And it was at Kíli’s yelp he understood the meaning.

            Kíli’d raced back up the aisle, paying no attention to the small brown thread that had been secured tightly across it. With a yelped, “FÍLI!” he crashed to the ground, grabbing at the shelves on either side of him in a sad and fruitless attempt to save his dignity. Of course, as is the way of such acts the shelves suddenly found themselves very much obliged to come crashing down around the pair, one falling right on Fíli as he looked on in abject horror.

            Bilbo flitted about the shadows of the remaining shelves a moment more to watch Erestor come raging out of his own alcove and berate the pair of ungainly fools. She barely contained her laughter as she watched the sage elf take the pair up by the ears and march them to their minder.

***

            Bilbo was going to have to figure out exactly how the lads were tracking her down. There was no earthly reason they should have been anywhere near the bathing houses, the dwarrow having apparently taken to cleansing themselves in one of the ornate fountains that littered the main walkways. The scandal had Lindir racing through the sanctuary like a squirrel with a terrifyingly unfortunate nervous condition. And though she was rather partial to the harried expression on the ruffled musician, especially when it was accompanied by hair that had been pulled and tugged into a veritable nest of tangled frustration, she was growing a bit weary of having to continuously dodge the lads. And it didn’t look as though the pair would survive their little game much longer if they kept this up.

            Fíli was now wrapped in the white bandages that had been the result of the thistle bushes, as well as a fair wrapping around his golden head where a particularly heavy tome concerning the proper ways of caring for ones pet Chinchilla had caused a small rupture. He was favoring his left leg, seeing as it had been pinned under the fallen shelving unit and his ribs had been a bit bruised by the substantial weight of knowledge, as it were. Kíli, too, bore the badges of his fight with a bramble bush, as well as those of a peculiar cactus that Elrond’s healers had been experimenting with, seeing as the thing seemed to secrete a paralytic agent they found curious. Half of his face was terrifyingly lax as a result of said agent, though the healers assured him the effects would wear off by that evening. His sword arm was in a sling from where he’d strained it overly much when trying to stop his forward and downward momentum from earlier. Both dwarrow bore red punctures on their faces where Óin couldn’t bandage the irritation, and they were sporting a pair of reddened ears from being first dragged to Thorin for chastisement and then said chastisement.

            Bilbo’d managed to have lunch before they’d found her again, seeing as they’d had to sneak away from their newly appointed babysitter, Glóin. And if that hadn’t been a hoot, the pair’d nearly passed out from the continuation of the Epics of Gimli. But sneak away they had, just as the hobbit had intended to enjoy some quiet moments in the bath. They’d found her strolling through the hall on the way to the bathhouses and had instantly given chase. And though she was swift there was apparently something to be said for the desperation and vengefulness of the dwarrow condition. Either way, she was ending this nonsense once and for all.

            Fíli watched as the little devil swung into a spare room, slamming the door shut behind her. He gave Kíli a small smile of triumph, seeing it mirrored in the grim expression turned to him and they slammed their own way into the room after the burglar. The pair was instantly hit with a wall of warm, moist air. Stopping in their tracks on the threshold they found themselves in a large circular room on a sparkling white tile ledge that led into a slowly sloping circular pool of steaming water. The smell of eucalyptus and lavender was near overwhelming as the pair stood and looked around the bathing house for their prey. Kíli slapped a hand to his brother’s arm and gestured across the way at the hobbit where she stood on the opposite end of the room watching them wearily. Twin grins spread across their faces as they began to walk towards her from the two different directions. Neither noticed the tightly clenched lip as Bilbo tried to stop her own amusement as they continued their prowl.

            Quite suddenly, from the depths of the large pool came a head of long deeply saturated black locks. With a quick snap of the neck Arwen, Elrond’s youngest daughter, threw her hair back revealing leagues of pearlescent smooth skin and opened some of the deepest, bluest, sapphire eyes as they settled on the two lads. Plush lips gapped a moment before those all seeing eyes turned stormy and a rosy flush came to ride high on sharp cheekbones, dark brow meeting in the center of a creaseless forehead. The Durin lads could say this of their chance meeting with the elven beauty, it was something to remember. Droplets of water shimmered and slew out of such deep ebony and across heat flushed alabaster, as she chased them from the baths, throwing salts, soaps, and brushes at their retreating backs.

            Dwalin decided the pair obviously had too much energy if they were running around the Last Homely House disrupting the peace and peeping on their womenfolk so he worked the injured lads into limp, bruised, barely intelligible weeping masses on the training field. When Thorin found them after being asked in the most polite manner to keep his reckless, coarse brood away from the women’s bathes he gave them a few more welts for Óin to patch up. No matter how they may feel about the flower ticklers they were dwarrow and womenfolk were not to be toyed with in such crude manners.

            Bilbo enjoyed a long, luxurious bath before sneaking down to the kitchens for some Afternoon Tea.

***

            She’d been peaceably enjoying the personal garden of her host, turning over her thoughts as she sat in the dimming light of the setting sun, when Gandalf found her.

            “You’ve led the young Durins on quite the chase today, my dear.” The elder noted amusedly as he settled down on the bench beside her, taking his pipe from the folds of his robes as he did so.

            Her smirk was this side of vicious as she sent a near perfect smoke ring, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about Gandalf. I did hear about that ghastly business with Arwen though. Little Estel was less than amused with the infringement on the Lady’s privacy and person. If we’re not careful that lad is going to become quite attached to the elven maiden.”

            Allowing a small chuckle Gandalf nodded as he puffed away at his pipe, sending a small cat to play with the ring, in the dying sun, “Yes, well, that’s hardly here or there. The lad’s some time yet before any concern need be raised.” He turned a curious eye towards the seemingly calm creature at his side, “That reminds me, thank you for your assistance with Lord Elrond last night, Bilbo. It was most convenient.”

            Bilbo glared up at the old man before growling “Don’t thank me for this. Don’t thank me for anything! What were you thinking? Was this your intent all those years ago? When you sent me into that damned Mountain?! Were you planning to send them on this death mission when I was in the bowls of hell? When, exactly, did you decide to send me into this mess? Was I even healed from my little spelunking expedition? Or was Elrond still trying to save my life?” Amber eyes had narrowed and turned a fiery gold as they responded to the ire and caught the dying rays of sunlight. Pink lips were tight and blanched in barely contained rage at the old man’s presumption. Only a small shifting of the eye showed the slightest bit of desperately concealed hurt at the thought her oldest friend would use her as such a pawn in his plans.

            Grey eyes may seem old but they saw most things, and they saw the wound he’d unfortunately dealt his tiny companion. With a sigh the Istari stared out at the fading light, watching the dance of shadow and color as the world slowly gave way to muted pigment and the blues of night, “No, Bilbo, I did not plan for you to be going on this quest. After Moria I had every intention of leaving you very much alone and safe in your cozy smial, regardless of how the decision seemed to be afflicting you,” wise indeed, she’d been half mad with boredom and guilt when she’d went on that ill fated venture. “I care deeply for your safety, surly you must see that,” weary grey eyes fell on larger gold as Gandalf finished his clarification.

            Slightly mollified by the reassurance that her worth wasn’t so marginal in the wizard’s eyes, Bilbo allowed a small pout to grace her face as she kicked her large foot in the air, not reaching the ground on the too tall bench, “Then what are you doing, old friend. You forced your way into my smial with a handful of dwarrow I was all but helpless to follow, lying to them in the process. Really? Thráin gave you the key? What was Moria? What am I supposed to think? What do you think is going to happen when we reach the Mountain? _If_ we reach it.” Brow furrowed as Bilbo turned over the concerns she’d had from the beginning of their journey. Puffing at her pipe to calm herself she grimaced at the cooled cup.

            Gandalf nodded as he offered his thumb to relight the hobbit lass’s sputtered pipe. She really was rather good at those rings, “Well, Bilbo my dear, it wasn’t a complete falsehood when I told them Thráin gave me that key.” Glancing down he saw the raised brow on the softly curved face. “He’d meant to. Of course, at the time, I’d no clue that he was Thráin, so grievously wounded and near death as he’d been. Not completely sure he knew who he was himself. I happened upon him in Dol Guldur some time before I’d even met your mother, or become acquainted with your Tooks and their… proclivities,” the droll statement had a half smile forming on the Halfling as she allowed the Istari to continue his story. “It is safe to say, the final pieces of the King who once was Thráin were there in his last act as he put in my safekeeping the map we’ve come to ask for Lord Elrond’s aid, and an ornately formed piece of metalwork. Mithril metalwork. It wasn’t until much later I realized what the map was, or what he’d _thought_ the metal piece was. And a time after that before I understood _where_ said piece could have been found.”

            “This is why you had mother and I go to the Greenwood all that time ago. To find the real key.” Bilbo’s face was creased in concentration as she puzzled the wizard’s words out in her head. With the unnecessary confirming nod she received she whooshed an impatient breath as making an aborted attempt to swipe her hands through her injured scalp, “Why _us_ , Gandalf?! Surely there are those better suited for this work? Someone with more battle skill, even among my own relations! Flambard with his duck blades, there hasn’t been a fiercer Hobbit since Brandobras! Sigismond’s a better archer than most _elves_! Instead you call on my miniature knives and me? Did you know how many ties I’d made with this farcical faction of fractured fuckwits?”

            Gandalf was far from impressed with her alliterative disparaging but answered her none the less, “No, my dear, I was not aware how close you were, or would become, with these particular dwarrow. I chose your mother and yourself, at first, because of your penchant for the Blue Mountains, surely. But now?” The Grey One shook his head in something boarding consternation, melting into fondness as he stared down at the avid faced hobbit, “Why you, why little Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and you give me courage[7].” Seeing the shock on the tiny creature’s face Gandalf pushed further, “Bilbo, this quest is not merely one for the lost homeland of a misplaced people, though that in itself makes it worthy. This may well be the first step in preventing something far more disastrous than a dragon. Smaug has been left to his own for too long, while many will set their eye to the treasure, it is the evil that lies within that needs banishing, for where evil exists it spreads. You have some small experience with it yourself, do you not remember your last visit to the Greenwood?”

            Bilbo’s eyes turned hard as her lips tightened in remembered dismay, “There was something off, it seeped through the very ground.”

            Nodding as a teacher would at their prize pupil, “There is indeed. And it has just grown in these last years. I fear what grows in those woods, what has been feeding off the malicious scent and presence of that foul beast. Or hiding beneath it.” The wizened face was stony as something like dread went through the Wanderer.

            Amber eyes were nearing copper as fear darkened them and they widened, “Gandalf, what are a group of thirteen and a hobbit going to do against evil the likes of which an Istari fears?!”

            Gandalf’s hand settling on the curls of the little lass was calming, but far from the reassurance she needed. His grey eyes seemed older than they ever had before as he stared into her upturned face, but his smile was fond and heartwarming as it was directed at the hobbit, “Only what you can. What you feel is right. There are those of this world who believe that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. I’ve found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love[8].”

            There was a moment of silence where the pair merely stared at each other as the deep sentiment of his confidence settled on her. Blinking a bit, clearing away some unwanted moisture, Bilbo let herself fall sideways into her batty old friend, “So, you want me to evict a dragon with everyday kindness? Should I bake him a pie? Suppose he’d like a healthy pumpkin or something more robust like rhubarb?!”

            She deserved that shove off the bench. It did the pair a deal of good, the laugh that ensued. And if Bilbo didn’t get much sleep that night in her comfy nest, well, how many people were told they were basically the last hope of a creature as powerful as a Guardian of Middle Earth?

 

** Day Three ** ** : Hiding/Pranking/Glorfindel Oh My **

 

            You know who could pick elfish locks? _Elves_ could pick elfish locks.

            They could also walk upon the driest leaves of a forest in _autumn_ without making a sound.

            Bilbo had become acquainted with this knowledge in various ways over the years but, just in case she were ever to forget due to some brain damage she may or may not have contracted that had sent her on this mad quest in the first place, the twins were always there to help.

            “Bilbo?”

            “Bilbo?”

            “ _Dúath_?”

            “Are you awake?”

            “Does she _look_ awake Elrohir?”

            “Well she may be _feigning_ , Elladan. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

            “Nor the last you pointy eared weed suckers!” Bilbo’s groan was accompanied by an adorably huffy wiggle as she burrowed deeper under her mass of pillows, all but disappearing under the downy sacs.

            “ _Dúath!_ ” there was something truly grating about synced exclamation. It was simultaneously creepy and annoying. Leaving one murderously unnerved.

            It aided her foul mood in _no_ way to suddenly feel the chill of the morning air (chill marking it as _much_ too early for decent folk to be awake) as her flimsy shields were swiftly taken from her and thrown across the room. One bloodshot brown eye glared at the _entirely_ too cheerful expression on the ethereal face of, if she didn’t miss her guess, Elrohir. He was the one who tended towards shit eating grins, where Elladan preferred haughty and smug. “This is entirely inappropriate you fanged menace, I’m not even wearing _pants_!”

            “You’re half the time wearing skirts so I don’t see how that makes a valid argument,” yep, Elladan was on her other side being a smartass leaving his brother in baleful stare range.

            “Cheeky shits.”

            “It’s hardly ladylike to engage in such foul language little _Dúath_ ,” Elrohir announced as he began tweaking a curl that was lying over her closed eye. And tweaking. And tweaking. And tweaking. And tweaking. And tweaking. And tweaking.

            And she just missed him with her clawed hand. Swiping at the elf while hissing like a rabid cat was hardly dignified, and, sadly, did nothing to buoy her humor. Though falling off the side of the bed made her face and the floor mortal enemies. One simply couldn’t have enough of those.

            “ _Dúath_! Are you alright?” This was met with a growl that shook through the tiny abused body. The subsequent attempt to help her up was viciously discouraged by teeth and nail.

            “This is most assuredly not appropriate behavior!”

            “Especially towards two dear, and eager hosts as ourselves.”

            “Only seeking to supply the proper levels of entertainment for our favored guest.”

            “We had just thought to invite you to Lindir’s private lute sessions this morning.”

            “He’s so lonely in that pretty hanging garden of his.”

            “A musician of his caliber really should have an avid audience at his continuous disposal.”

            “Though he won’t be there for at least another hour or so.”

            “Just enough time to garner proper seating.”

            “Truly sad, to let an opportunity for a private viewing as this to pass us by.”

            It took the hobbit much longer than she’d ever admit to dissect the _obnoxious_ tête-à-tête. But when she did the dark curly nest on her head bounced up revealing her slightly reddened nose and an impressive glower at the twin smirks, “Well, hell, why didn’t you just start off with that?!” And suddenly the tiny mortal was bouncing to her feet, grabbing up her pants and dragging them on as she hopped out the door, “Tally-ho lads!”

            The twins may have shared a smile as they flew to catch up to their tiny ally. But it was hardly friendly so we’ll just hope you’re never on the receiving end of such deviant minds.

***

            The early dawn air in the grand city of Imladris was always misty and cool. The cascading waters that guarded the elfish settlement made these quiet times damp and dewy, before the sun could fully rise to combat the moisture. Advantageous for the splendid growth the inhabitants enjoyed so thoroughly. The gardens were vast and zealous in their development and cover. There wasn’t a single balcony or glen that wasn’t a trove of pigment and life, skirting the edges of wild and tamed. This close to midsummer the blooms were very welcoming of the excess damp, clinging to the water as they fought off the withering caress of the season’s heat.

            Lindir was very similar to his garden in this regard. Perhaps not the moisture, but certainly the chill it lent the morning. He was a creature of comfort if he was honest with himself. Enjoyed the hard fought for peace he and his kin had carved out here in this little valley. Under the rule of his sage lord they had enjoyed centuries of bliss as they prospered and aided those that walked the roads of Arda. As steward of the Last Homely House he was ever at his lord’s beck and call (not that it was any hardship, his admiration of his master obvious and honest) but these small moments he set aside for just himself, where he could enjoy a peace that settled over him with each dewdrop in the mist.

            He stood straight, posture elegant and impeccable as was his wont, as he breathed in the cleansed air, taking in the delicate perfumes of the blooms he’d hand picked to keep him company in his personal sanctum. The jasmine hadn’t retreated from its nocturnal exhibition, their heady scent heavily pervading the balcony in charming farewell, white heliotrope marrying the residue, some late lilac adding a bit of spice to the heavily sweetened air. Hanging above were his angel trumpets, just beginning to loose their own fragrance, a fragile line of crisp delicate flavor. Later in the day these would be overcome with heat and his flowering plum tree would bathe his chambers in a honey sweet aroma, lemon verbena cutting through it to avoid a saccharine overdose. But for now it was heady and peaceful, with just enough spice to keep the brain sharp and just enough chill to keep the blood running.

            With a last appreciative breath he sent the air to his diaphragm and opened his slightly quirked lips to welcome the day with his song… only to grasp at his throat in horrified shock as a grating croak fell from his slender elf neck. Deep brown eyes were wide in shock at what sounded like the dying call of a tit he’d just warbled into the smooth air. He grasped and desperately tried to call out to the world, breath coming in panicked gasps as even that was being stolen from him. As life and death danced a merry jig through his trauma filled mind, vision darkening as air and consciousness became scarce he heard it. The tinkling laughter of that great horses ass his dear lord had the misfortune to call his eldest son. Suddenly, his vision went from slowly fading black to a crimson battle red and he silently roared into the crisp air as he swirled like some wispy grey specter of silk and rage.

            Turns out, as fond as elves were of flowers, they weren’t half so knowledgeable of them as they liked to think. True their healers were very educated, more so than any known to Man or Dwarf, but hobbits were a different kettle all together. Even the most addled of the wee folk were taught from early on the language and properties of all that grows. Lindir was a vocalist with some fair background in casual gardening, hardly up to snuff by Shire standards. Especially ill suited by Tookish standards. Not that the Tooks were experts, the Greenhands, Ropers, and Gamgees being the real horticulturists of the race. Her own Halfred and Holman put her to shame. Even Hamfast, newly apprenticed to putter about Bagend as it were, made her look like a black thumbed novice. But no Took was allowed to wander the Wilds without a very basic (by their standards) understanding of healing herbs and poisons (purely defensive). They were also not considered done with their ‘training’ until they were proficient in at least _one_ ranged weapon. As it happened, this was highly advantageous for Bilbo as her mother was a right shot with her various poison tipped darts, teaching her own daughter how to muddle up some truly heinous concoctions (Bella’s favored medium, not surprisingly, being her namesake). The beauty being that almost anything could be used given the right combinations and proportions, even those plants usually viewed as rather drab or innocuous foliage. It was the work of a moment for the tiny burglar to gather the herbs necessary to burn a mist of sweet scented smoke, hidden in the watery dew of the morning and the pungent jasmine blossoms. The goal of said posy, of course, being to agitate the vocal chords of any unfortunate enough to get a solid whiff. A handy tool, that, when trying to keep any raucous rabble from being roused during their more clandestine heists, and with Lindir hyperventilating as he was wont the affects were swift and flagrant.

            But it was only as good as its masters and Elrohir was a ponce. She should have dosed the elder twin before this ill-fated ambush. Now she had the terrifying experience of being chased through Rivendell by a voluminously robed grey and white mass of silent silky menace. Well, all good things and what not.

***

            “I assure you, my dear Lord Elrond –”

            “And yet here I stand, far from _assured_ , Mithrandir,” the traditionally calm, benevolence that wrapped around the Lord of Imladris was a very thin, ragged veneer as he and the Grey Wizard strolled through the arching structures of his sanctuary. Lips firm and eyes darkly hooded Elrond turned a dire look to the Istari as he thwarted, once again, the Wizard’s attempt to talk his way out of the giant pile of dragon shit he’d stepped into, “Has time blunted your memory? It must be a burden to be so taxed in shepherding the lives of the creatures of all Arda. Allow me to remind you,” the Lord suddenly turned to face the Istari, grey eyes swirling silver with quickened rage, “There is a _dragon_ in that mountain! To say _nothing_ of the company you have placed her in.”

            Affronted at the slight to the dwarrow (and none too interested in continuing any line of questioning where Smaug was the focus) Gandalf drew himself to his full height, his own grey eyes dark with censure, “I’d expected better of you Elrond, than to succumb to the mindlessness of centuries old feuds!”

            “ _Do not_ lecture _me_ on feud. It is not _I_ or my people who hold the rest of the races in such contempt!” for all their conversation was near a whisper in the air it leaked with the miasma of ire and insult. Elrond’s mouth thinned as his brow furrowed ever darker thinking of the rapport their _Dúath_ had seemed to _lack_ , “For all the affections she holds for the little fathers of her past it seems lacking in reciprocation.”

            Pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply, the Istari made a heroic attempt to rein their exchange back into a calmer setting, continuing to move forward, once more mirrored by the Lord, he clarified, “Yes, well, she has chosen to remain rather obstinately anonymous as you may have realized. Even so, she has made quite a number of allies in the Company already and she will only continue to win them over as time moves on.”

            “Yes, there seemed much warmth and concern from their King eve before last when she rejoined them after being carried away, injured, by, to them, a stranger,” the Elf Lord’s dry tone was rift with censor and a fear only fathers of young girls could truly comprehend.

            “Any one of those dwarrow would lay their lives down for the Company, and that includes little Bilbo Baggins,” conviction was certain and rang deep in the Wizard’s voice as he clanked his staff to the flagstone for emphasis.

            But that was far from the end of the matter as the Lord reminded the Wizard in a droll tone his sons would have recognized as that which came before being sent on a year long bog duty, “Something that will be put to the test quite fiercely when they meet the slumbering _beast_. Exactly _when_ were you intending to tell _me_ of your intentions? Or perhaps you thought I would not question your sudden all consuming interest in cartography, old friend?”

            A rueful frown graced the wizened face as Gandalf glanced from under his bushy brow at the tight-lipped elf. Sighing quietly to himself, he continued cheerily, “Of course I was going to tell you, I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you could trust that I know what I am doing,” in regards to dragons as well as hobbits was silently tacked on. Even so, the overlarge, wounded grey eyes were really over the top.

            The incredulous look Elrond gave his Grey friend swiftly confirmed it, “Do you? That dragon has slept for 60 years. What will happen if your plan should fail? If you wake that beast–”

            “But if we succeed. If the Dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the East will be strengthened!” the Istari insisted, with a deepening of his frown. A strength he feared would be desperately needed, even necessary, not long from now, though potentially coming far too late…

            “It is a dangerous move, Gandalf,” the solemnness of the observation was dire and rift in possibilities as the Lord’s eyes stared far, far away.

            “It is also dangerous to do nothing or cut the throne of Erebor, it's Thorin's birthright,” he would not be swayed from this.

            “Have you also forgotten a strain of madness runs deep in that family? His grandfather lost his mind; his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall? Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle-earth,” now there was a small grimace in the Elf’s continence as he shifted a glance to the East.

            Coming up sharply Gandalf demanded, “Did you call them!?”

            The droll look managed to make the elder Istari feel like a child asking for a stay of execution from their father, “No, but they will come. You are not subtle Mithrandir.”

            A grimace washed the old Istari’s face as they turned the corner of one of the halls, weariness stooping his shoulders as he thought on the inevitable fall out the Council would have when he was brought to task for his ministrations. If the Valar favored him in any way Saruman would arrive well after Midsummers.

            Gandalf’s face went from tiredly sad to bemusement as the Elf Lord suddenly held his arm out to stop him in his place. Glancing at Elrond with a partially raised eyebrow in question he was swiftly brought to further attention as –

            “ ** _GET BACK HERE!_** ” the squeaky voice was so high pitched it sent the elder Istari’s ears to ringing instantly.

            Just as he turned to face the corridor the screech came from, two elves sprinted by with a hobbit on the lead’s shoulders that was screaming back towards the voice, “If you’d _stop screaming_ your vocal cords would _calm down_ and go back to _normal_ squeaky instead of _deafening_ squeaky!”

            The odd trio just turned the corner at the other end of the corridor when Lindir raced past their hallway; hair disheveled and face purpled as his grey robes flew out around him. He stopped a moment to offer Elrond a small panting bow before picking up speed and continuing the chase.

            Gandalf’s brow were now both reaching for his hairline as he turned to see a seemingly placid expression having returned to the Lord Elrond’s face as the father retracted his arm and gestured for them to continue down the hall. The Elf took a few steps before waiting for the Pilgrim. With a few huffs of disconcerted breath and a long-suffering sigh they renewed their jaunt, both silently agreeing never to mention any of this ever.

***

            “I don’t trust her.”

            Dwalin looked up from where he was treating his axes. He had followed his brother and cousin to one of the covered archways that encircled their tiny fortress in the elfish city. The sons of Fundin had settled in a too tall bench, Dwalin tending Keeper and Balin watching their esteemed leader pace back and forth in front of them like a caged jackal. Not a stone’s throw was the rest of the Company. Óin was tending the lads who were still a bit bloated from their run ins with the less than welcoming foliage. Glóin was nattering at the princes about Gimli again as punishment for that harebrained foolishness involving the Lady of the house. Honestly, elf or no there was no excuse in treatin’ womenfolk like that. The brothers Ri were arguin’ about this or that in a corner by the fountain they’d used ta bathe the other evenin’. If Dwalin didn’t miss his guess the youngest was lookin’ ta take off and explore the libraries. Bookish little thing he was, though not bad ta have in a fight. He’d done some damage wit’ tha’ wee slingshot of his after all. But they weren’t the only one’s in conference as it seemed the Urs were havin’ a heated discussion in the other corner of the glen under a shade tree. Bifur was practically foaming at the mouth again; so somethin’ ta do with their Burglar it would seem. It was a bit off, the attachment the addled warrior had to the lassie, but maybe somethin’ about the wee thing rustled somethin’ loose.

            None of this had any bearing on Thorin’s scowl as the King glared at an elfish pillar as though it had mortally offended him. Turning a look to his brother, he’d hoped to see something like pacification in the elder’s continence, but was put on something like alert at the considering gaze. “She is very… sociable with these elves,” watery blue eyes were near drowned in the white furrow of his brow as the Advisor continued to chase whatever rabbit holes his uncanny mind had opened up for him.

            Seeing Thorin seemed to take this admission as consent for whatever _his_ paranoid delusions were telling _him_ to do Dwalin thought it best to speak his two copper, “I’ll grant she’s an odd taste in friends. Elves no’ bein’ the worst o’ them,” the guard made a surreptitious glance back towards the garden as his thoughts strayed to the tridomed thief. The lad had been standing fierce guard over his own since they’d arrived here, though there were moments Dwalin’d look and find him missing from the group, only to watch him coming back moments later lookin’ angrier than a warg in heat. Turning back to his kin he continued, “She’s no’ been anythin’ but useful.”

            “Exactly my point, brother. What is a Halfling doing with skill such as we’ve seen? And why not be forthright from the beginning about it and her kinship with these elves? What else are she and the wizard hiding?” if Balin’s brow furrowed any further he’d loose them to his beard.

            Thorin nodded his assent, scowling now at the floor seeing as the pillar wasn’t willin’ ta melt at his will, “It is no secret that Tharkûn has his own motives for aiding us. What does the Halfling hope to gain from this?”

            “Ye don’t suppose a fourteenth of a mountain’s wealth has somethin’ ta do with it?” Dwalin could be just as dry as burnt sand when he wanted to be.

            The glare he received from his cousin was expected and chuckled at in due proportions. His brother’s scowl and shaking head was not, “Ye saw the lass’s home as well as any of us lad. Wealth wasn’t somethin’ she seemed in need of.” The elder’s gaze turned hard as he looked to his younger brother, “Aye, and you recall the spear she used to greet us. Dwarven make, I’d place my last farthing on it.”

            “Hmm, and with the skill she displayed on the field it would seem you were both in greater danger of being skewered than you’d previously assumed,” Thorin’s voice took on a somewhat darker tone as he thought of what it would have been like to walk into a slaughter instead of a party.

            “Aye, but she didn’ did she?” Dwalin’s voice was gravel as he glared at the pair. Always borrowing trouble. “She had the whole night ta off the lot o’ us and instead signed on as part of the Company,” and that meant quite a bit to the Guard. Honor bound him to his word and that word was bound to his name, that he’d signed just as she had. It made her his charge as much as any of the Company. Further, he’d watched the small thing’s less than pleased stomping about the hole that night and after what she proved capable of… he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a wee bit wary, but nothin’ the likes of these two. The pair seemed ready to tie her up and start demandin’ answers. After what she’d done for the young prince she’d more than earned her place in their ranks. Not te mention their pollen sucking hosts would probably take some issue with anythin’ untoward happenin’ to their wee Burglar. And wasn’ it a sad day when _he_ was the one bein’ ‘reasonable’ and ‘diplomatic’?

            “It doesn’t make sense. Her having dwarfish steel or the skill to wield it,” Thorin growled as he moved to stare out at the rest of the company. His glower became darker when he didn’t spot the Urs. They’d been disappearing into the elfish labyrinth in search of the tiny nuisance since she’d been carted off by that golden haired devil the first day. Bifur seeming to become more and more agitated and gruff as each day passed with no sign of her.

            Dwalin had had just about enough as he stood and walked to his King’s side, “The skill tha’ saved four members of your Company? One bein’ yer own blood? Ye’ve been growlin’ about the uselessness of Halflings the entire way from those bleedin’ Green Hills an’ now tha’ it seems we’ve found the only useful one to be had in the lot ye’re growlin’ abou’ that! Is there anythin’ the lass can do tha’ won’t get yer hackles up?”

            Dwalin and Thorin were saved from the inevitable row in the making, the King having turned to retort, flushing red in anger at being dressed down like a tot, by a clamor coming from down one of the passages that turned onto their terrace. Before anything else could be said a pair of elves came streaming down the hall cackling as their tiny Burglar chased after them waving her fist in the air, “I’ll get the _pair_ of you for this! I swear if that demented moth catches me I’m dosing your food!” As the trio turned the corner they were swiftly encored by the ‘demented moth’ elf steward who’d greeted them the other day, looking far less regal than he had before.

            Watching the trail of grey silk disappear behind the corner Thorin stared wide-eyed as Balin glared into the distance and Dwalin’s laughter echoed after the odd assembly. Turning to see the continued gob smacked expression on his King’s face and the baleful one on his brother the Guard smirked, “Well, at least the spawn don’ limit herself ta annoyin’ dwarrow.”

***

            Erestor was silently enjoying his library, translating a new treasure his lord’s daughter had brought back from one of her trips to her grandmother. Silently at his desk. Silently. Siiiiilllently.

            “AHHHH!!!!” the lordlings came running through, actual terror written on their shared face as their favorite hobbit confederate roared after them with a rather large, pointy stick. Actually… that stick was frightfully familiar…

            “BILBO BAGGINS!”

            Chasing after the hobbit was the Grey Wizard, sans staff as it had just been used to swipe at the squealing head of young Elrohir. Near on his enraged heels was a rather winded looking Lindir. The Istari was glaring and red with annoyance and rage. Lindir was limping after the quartet as he tried to desperately catch air. With nary a thought to it the steward leaned against the desk Erestor was sitting at, still reading through his treasure, and accepted the goblet of crisp water the elder poured him. Erestor remained seated, silently scrolling through his ancient text.

            “OH SHIT!!!” Bilbo’s ladylike exclamation was the only warning the pair had before a rather impressive blue ball of fire raced through the air, causing the winded Lindir to yelp as he collapsed to the ground. The steward stared in something akin to abject horror at the new singe edged window that now looked out onto one of the, thankfully, working fountains on an east facing terrace.

            “Sorry Erestor!” the singsong voice of the little _Dúath_ announced as she jumped onto the desk in front of the still translating librarian and bounced off the adjacent wall to fly out the new portal.

            “WAIT FOR US!” the lordlings followed with all the grace of a pair of yearling pups, tumbling out said portal in a heap of gangly limbs.

            “FOOL OF A TOOK!” Gandalf raced after their shrieking forms wielding his returned staff, though it seemed to be hissing a bit at the jointure where the crystal met the gnarled wood.

            Wiping sweat from his face with the handkerchief he was subtly supplied, Lindir rose back to his feet, shakily, and gave the still stoically reading elf a nod before limping after the trio. “That way,” was the softly spoken direction as the poor musician tried and failed to push himself through the hole. With a nod of thanks and a wheezing salute he followed the ink stained hand’s direction and used the door that exited out into the very same terrace.

            The dark elf sighed once more as the door closed behind his bereaved fellow and continued to scribble his personal notes on the translation at hand.

***

            Imladris in the predawn was something out of a fairy story. A magically city that flowed from the mist, shining as the dawn light bounced through the moist filigree, burning the dewy veil away from the haven. The cascades that guarded the keep and turned the mystical mornings into oases of temperate bliss cut through the midsummer’s heat. It was a gossamer beauty of opalescence steeped in a light natural aura, a mirror of its inhabitants’ repose.

            In the setting sun the ethereal nature of the sanctum turned into something vivacious. White columns of stone and water, clouds of sparkling mist all burned in the dying light. Color intensified, orange and yellows became burnished, turning copper and gold. Red deepened and writhed as something living. Purples, blues, and greens became an inky backdrop for their fiery counterparts. Blooms stood tall to soak the last of the dying rays from the life-sustaining titan. Headier scents began to seep and soak the grounds as enterprising night blossoms began to open and demand their time, their place. Where the morning reflected the delicate nature of balance and the inscrutability of the sylvan hosts, the evening became a living effigy of the force and power in the long-lived creatures. A marvel of nature, stolid sanctum, meant to be appreciated and savored in respectful silence.

            Assuming Hobbits weren’t about.

            “STOP FOLLOWING ME!” Bilbo’s bellow was heard from all sides of the elven home and possibly all the way to Mordor. After young Frodo completes his stint as Ring Bearer some fifty or so odd years after the events being laid out in this telling it was hypothesized that Sauron hadn’t attempted to annihilate Middle Earth sooner because he’d heard Bilbo Baggins’ caterwauling and blatantly refused to leave his hole until the tiny Burglar was well and truly rooted in her aged infirmity. Of course, only Dwalin was dwarf enough to voice this opinion and he swiftly suffered the consequences of such temerity by temporarily loosing the hearing in his better ear as the hobbit in question began to demonstrate what true ‘caterwauling’ sounded like. Near three centuries in age and still acting the novice.

            But we’re getting far and ahead of ourselves as Bilbo was still rather spry and middle aged and presently being trailed by not only the lordling pups she’d started the day with and the great moth that had ceased to so much as _wheeze_ in her general direction (but still managed to limp his sad exhausted self after them) but Gandalf was still fresh and fiercely looking for her blood. Not even ten minutes ago they’d ran through the halls of the upper apartments and found little Estel bored of his teachings and biting at the bit for something curious, loud and entertaining. He’d always enjoyed when they’d gone to visit the Halflings. Little Bilbo being his favorite as she was very much a child herself, even if she wasn’t actually one when they met. But she was very indulgent, told the best stories, taught him the best tricks, and stole away sweets for him from the windowsills. All in all, the best friend he’d ever had with the exclusion of Lady Arwen. She was obviously the best, being so pretty and sweet and smart and talented and kind and always making time for him and never letting the brothers bother him and teaching him how to read the land and the air and the animals and… well he was just completely enamored with her and was too young yet to feel any particular embarrassment about it. But Arwen wasn’t there so Bilbo would have to do. Her and her merry gaggle as they ran all over the House.

            With all the running and jumping and _screaming_ that had been going on since even before the first glimmers of morning had pierced the protective vapors of the Last Homely House it wasn’t any surprise that the burglar may not be at her _best._ Still, even at her worst she shouldn’t have been taken so by surprise that she was swept up into arms and around a corner with none the wiser, a large hand clasped to her mouth to keep her yelping quiet. As she dangled feet off the ground the parade she’d been leading raced by. First Estel laughing his innocent joy into the game of life, death and peril, followed by the twin menace, also laughing, but far from innocent. So far from innocent. They had _never_ been innocent. They probably didn’t even know what the word was such was their relationship with the concept. Gandalf roared by moments after, staff aglow as he took aim, trying not to harm the tiny tot ahead of them but still singe the lordlings. Finally, the champion of the hour, as he made his wheezing way through the halls, Lindir’s robes had frayed and were drenched in sweat and water from the fountain outside the library, but he persevered. For a moment Bilbo thought the gig might be up as the elf paused by the darkened hall she was presently being imprisoned. But after leaning heavily into the wall and glaring after the gaggle ahead he seemed to set a fierce scowl on his soft face and continued to limp after them.

            As the last echoes of the addled bounced far and away from the little cove and Bilbo’s heart stopped trying to hammer out of her chest from the scare the golden deuce had placed in her, the hobbit opened her mouth to bite down on… air. She landed with a quiet ‘Oof’ mostly because she hadn’t the energy to make the yelp such mistreatment deserved. It was probably inevitable anyways; with how much time her face had been spending making enemies with the floors of Rivendell this stay. Sighing the tiny nuisance swayed to her hands and knees.

            At least the crazed daisy was polite enough to let her catch her breath before speaking, “So much activity isn’t good for the strained muscles in your leg. To say nothing of your head wound _marta_.”

            She merely glared up at the glowing Eternal, “Have you ever even _seen_ a fairy?!” No, she didn’t know everything there was to know about Glorfindel, she doubted she ever would. What she did know was age had done him no favors and to combat that he chose his companions very carefully and showered them in his devotion and attentions. It just so happened that with his attentions came not a little bit of tough love and a heaping of snark and sarcasm wrapped in unshakable composure. As a matter of fact, the only time she’d ever seen that composure crack was some ten years back during her elongated stay after her trip into Moria with Gandalf. Even in battle the Immortal was cool and level, though the light of his gaze brightened to a blinding degree. She’d once seen him during an orc raid, standing as a beacon with a half smile on his face as he rained black blood from his sword. It had been the most terrifying sight of her short life, swiftly followed by the most _annoying_ as the elf had swept her up onto his shoulders like a child afterwards. Though the vantage had allowed her the opportunity to make better use of her projectiles during the skirmish. In the end, she acknowledged the honor bestowed on her of the great warrior’s time and consideration. She also knew his brains was a bag full of cats. You could smell the crazy on him.[9]

            “Yes. Now my little Shireling, what has brought you here with all these robust guests, hmm?” slender, strong, hands gripped her shoulders and began to move the hobbit through the halls.

            Continuing to watch the entirely too tall beast she narrowed her eyes to slits, “You’re lying! Fairy’s aren’t real!”

            “Not any longer.” With a widening of his half crazed grin the elf replied in something just shy of sinister, “It’s very rude not to answer a query when directed at one’s self. Even more so to deflect it with an attack on the questioner’s character.”

            Amber eyes blew as she hastily announced, “Erebor! Erebor! I swear we’re just trying to take out a dragon.” She didn’t need what followed that tone.

            Nodding the brute continued, “Rather overdue at that.” There was a narrowing of iridescent eyes as the ancient turned his gaze downward to her own, “But it doesn’t answer the question does it?”

            Swallowing the sudden dryness from her throat Bilbo slumped, “I’ve been commissioned to steal something off the beast beforehand?”

            A low, soundless, vibrating worked its way through the ethereal creature as he finally stopped the pair in front of a door… _her_ door it would seem. Turning the knob he ushered the tiny creature into the room and onto her bed where he began to shift her cleaned tresses about as he looked at the healing cuts on her scalp. “Do you have a death wish? I’ve been there, it’s rather boring, and I don’t think you’ll like it.”

            “Wait, what?!” she clutched the hand that had started to just pet her head as she gave the warrior a wide eyed look of disbelief.

            He was also given to ignoring bits of conversation, he just had nothing to really fear from the tiny Halfling, “I should have realized you’d be heading here when we ran across this on our incursion. If you’re planning to raid a dragon’s nest I suppose you could use it to irritate a scale,” Bilbo found herself suddenly looking at her butterfly sword, the one she’d loosed to keep Kíli’s pretty head on his shapely shoulders.

            Snatching it back up she turned to see the blonde elf attached to the arm holding her weapon was back to grinning a fond smile at her instead of something biting or crazed. She scowled as she swiftly secreted it away into her forearm holster, “You’re still a daisy haired ponce.”

            If anything the light of him shown brighter, “And you’re still an adorable little fey with chubby cheeks and anger management issues.” Trailing a long fingered hand through the curls of the tiny creature who’s glow wasn’t as obvious as his own but nearly as bright for those with the ability to see it, the old soul asked, spying the new ornament at her waist, “By the way, when did you become proficient in wielding your namesake[10] _Dúath_? Or is that just a fancy letter opener?” He barely managed to dodge the first downy pillow, but even his elfish ways and centuries old talents couldn’t save him from the second. She’d take what little she could salvage at this point.

 

** Day Four ** ** : I’m Hiding, Not Spying **

 

            “You’ll split your lip if you keep biting at it like that and I’m not inclined to forgive a _third_ mess in my library,” really, Bilbo must be loosing her touch. There had been a time that only _one_ person could sneak up on her and that was her own mother, thus it didn’t _count_! Now she had Nori circling like some kind of unhinged vulture on the road, the princelings baying at her heels like a pair of big eyed, floppy eared spaniels, and Elrohir and Elladan spiriting her still sleeping body away. Erestor’s sudden intrusion should have been almost expected.

            Instead, she’d bit straight through her lip, just the exact way the elf had demanded she not do (there you go you snarky shit), and even banged her head on the book she’d been ‘reading’. How she’d managed that was beyond comprehension, but she’d managed to jump to her feet and fall out of her chair, her head following her body a bit too closely and bashing into the book on the desk. So now she was rubbing at her head, holding her broken bottom lip, and glaring at the haughty librarian.

            Erestor, for his part merely raised a calm brow and handed her a silk handkerchief to mop up with. Rolling her amber eyes she accepted the offering, “How magnanimous of you, oh fierce defender of the paper realms.”

            A small quirk at the right dent in his lip was the only clue she got at his amusement as the ancient inspected the abused tome, “You’re quite welcome. But if you’re going to pretend to read something, may I suggest one of the newer books? Perhaps the _Ballads of Summertime_ , written and composed by the great and admirable Glorfindel?”

            Scowling she took the kerchief away from her lip and demanded incredulous, “Gloryhole wrote a book!?” Then she registered the rest of the statement, “He can’t _sing_!”

            A delicate shiver accompanied Erestor’s solemn nod, “Lindir was horrified, to say nothing of the rest of us.”

            The rant Bilbo was working on was paused by a curious look, followed by the glow of unholy glee, “Can I have a copy?”

            The librarian’s stare (for Erestor never glared, he conveyed all his emotions in a peace and tranquility that annoyed the ever loving shit out of everyone on Arda) was all the warning she’d need. No help there.

            She was also thwarted from her scheming on how exactly to _find_ said book when a delicate white hand clasped her shoulder, “My friend, what are you doing here?”

            Bilbo blinked her big brown eyes up at the serene elf, “Reading of course.”

            Small shift in left brow, deeply penetrating stare, and tranquil brown eyes. One Brandywine, Two Brandywine, Three Brandywine, Four Brandy – “ _Alright_! Fine, you win! I’m _hiding_.” She thrust herself back from the elf and stormed out of her tiny alcove. She had no misguided hope she wasn’t followed this time.

            “From what?” there was something about the smooth tenor that just _irked_. It was too calm, too reasonable, too damn unassuming. It barely sounded as though he even _cared_ what the answer was (though she supposed that was partially because he _knew_ what the answer was). But at the same time, those very traits made it damn near impossible to _not_ answer. And trust me, she’d been trying for the better part of her dismal little life.

            “Morgoth! I owe him money. Who’d’ve thought the Ainur would be such sticklers for unpaid debts.” Bilbo met the inevitable with all the grace her mother taught her. Being none at all.

            She continued to stomp deeper into the paper dwelling, barely registering the near silent swoosh of Erestor’s robes. It wasn’t until they’d begun to find the Quenya scrolls that the rustle and patient contemplation finally got the better of her. Turning sharply to face the taller creature she scowled up into the composed face, “You _know_ damn well what I’m doing here.”

            A small sigh was all the reaction that got as the elf raised a hand and brought it down to the snarling creature’s curls, carding through them idly, rubbing into a few grooves and dents as he went, “Why are you avoiding your companions Miss Bilbo?”

            Damn him to Mordor, but the manipulative bastard knew just how to turn a body into goop. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into the massaging hand, tension leaking from her as he continued his ministrations. “You know that too,” that was _not_ a sulk.

            “Bilbo.”

            “I’m scared! I screwed up! I got too close to those dwarrow years ago and then they came to my home seeking aid and I caved. When we were attacked by the orcs I didn’t think and I just reacted. And before _that_ I’d all but pronounced my identity to all of sundry!” _that_ was a pout.

            Erestor watched the chubby face, bitten lip jutting out, eyes downcast and shoulders rigid. She was an odd little thing, their hobbit. She was a fierce creature, brave for certain, all wrapped in a misleadingly cheerful and timid package. He’d seen the dwarrow she’d come to Imladris with, they were easier to read, most wearing their intentions and brutish nature in the same fashion they wore their armor. He could imagine the misgivings she was experiencing, dwarrow were not so fluid in their ways as her kind, very stolid in their beliefs and manner. To reveal herself as something so duplicitous would not win her fast friends, especially if they’d thought her a dwarf in her previous line of work. But he’d also watched as more than half of her troop had gone banging around the corridors of their home looking for their ‘burglar’ as they called her. He wasn’t omniscient, he couldn’t see the outcomes of these meetings, but he recognized the extra strain she was placing on herself by not acknowledging the problem and avoiding her friends. So with a soft smile he reserved for just this hobbit the librarian tilted her chin up to him and asked once more, “Why are you hiding?”

            The smile he got in return was shaky but quirked with weary amusement as she rolled her eyes and sighed before grasping his wrist for a squeeze and made her way out of his domain. Maybe he could finally get some work done now that he wasn’t worrying about anymore bouts of hide and seek on his shelves.

***

            Just because that obnoxiously placid bastard had made her feel foolish enough to go find her dwarrow didn’t mean she was quite ready to actually burst into their silly camp. Apparently _rooms_ with _beds_ were an insult to such virile and robust a people. No, better they sleep on threadbare bedrolls on the cold hard ground even in someone’s _home_. Mahal would smite their rock brains straight out their tight, chiseled asses if they displayed a hint of graciousness in the Last Homely House. So the lot of them was down in the inner garden below her, offending any elf that had the misfortune to need walk through either of the corridors that enclosed the terrace. There was a small fire pit where they’d also shown their appreciation for their host’s fine cooking. And if she wasn’t too off mark that was the fountain she’d heard about.

            They seemed to be settling in for the evening though. Dwalin was with Glóin, the pair idly chatting, every so often one going for their axe to display this or that. The argument seemed to be an old one as the pair’s elder brothers were off to the side sharing a pipe and shaking their head at their ridiculous kin. Thorin sat with Fíli and Kíli, the trio were sharing a familial moment, smiling at something the younger was saying, sprawled at his brother’s feet as the King brushed through his heir’s hair with an ornate looking comb. As she watched the dour Durin even seemed to chuckle, his shoulders shaking silently as he began the traditional braids in the blonde hair. Across the paddock was the rest of the company, Dori and Nori were bickering over something or other, the former red faced and the latter negligently sprawled on a stone bench. Nori’s lethargic posture told her this, too, was an old grievance, one that had the thief falling asleep where he lay. The Urs were under a cozy looking shade tree, Bofur leaning against the trunk, Bombur at his left and Bifur across from the pair, though not far. They seemed a bit preoccupied, Bifur was cradling his spear, treating the wood of the staff with a deep frown while the younger cousins bent their heads together and talked in hushed tones. There was something like concern in Bombur’s pudgy face and Bofur’s normally smiling one was tight as he listened. Every now and again Bifur would mumble something to the pair that only seemed to agitate them further.

            Bilbo blamed her preoccupation with the dour expression on Bofur for her near death experience.

            “Dori says it’s not polite to spy,” the voice was not even ten inches from her left.

            She maintained her silence only because the breath had ran for cover somewhere in her heart. It clenched there as she jumped from her crouch in the azaleas and met with air. Strong arms yanked her back onto the balcony, amazingly, before anyone below noticed the sudden appearance of a flying hobbit. She stayed sprawled on her back with her hands covering her face as she coaxed that breath out of its hiding place. After about three deep heaves Bilbo sent the intruder an incredulous look through her fingers, sending her leg out to deliver a soft kick that was further softened by the alarming amount of knitwear covering Ori’s shoulder.

            His giggle was still all childish glee as he rubbed at the offended area, “Sorry.” At least he had the decency to sit down beside her and just be silent as she panted on the white stone.

            “I’m too old for this orc shit. If it isn’t the princelings it’s the lordlings, and now, the scribbler,” amber eyes remained clenched shut as she gasped out her misgivings over her prospects.

            “It’s not _scribbling_! I’m a Scribe! Best of my class, and documenting the greatest quest since the battle of Azanulbizar!” the insult was strong in this one.

            Lifting a hand off one glaring eye, yep, that was pink cheeked insult, “Well it’s not _spying_ , it’s carful observation of ones subject in its native environment.” She sat up and primly arranged her legs and the skirt she’d chosen that morning (not even her wardrobe met with the Power’s That Be approval apparently) into something a bit more suitable. Plucking at the edge of the fluid materials she continued, “Besides, I’m a Baggins! Very proper hobbits, the Baggins’s. Not given to such lewd behaviors.”

            Ori’s next comment was accompanied by a terrible ripping sound as she snapped her hands apart in shock and rent the delicate material in twine, “And when did dressing in black, robbing dwarrow, and seducing my brother become ‘proper’ behavior?”

            “What?” if she could she’d slap herself for the wispy, quaking tone she’d allowed to inject itself into her query. Her mother would be rolling over in her grave. She’d be laughing, to be sure, but rolling with it.

            That overly shrewd look was back in the brown calf eyes as Ori frowned at her apparent second insult to his intelligence. Still he cocked an ironic brow as he answered, “Do you make it a habit of forgetting the weapons people point at you? I certainly don’t.”

            He was, of course, referencing the damned pig sticker she kept mounted in her foyer. She’d even greeted Dwalin with the damn thing! Looking back on it now, she was surprised the whole lot of them hadn’t figured her out based on her smial _alone_! The spear from her first meeting with Ori in the foyer, the tapestry in the living room she’d nicked with her mother from the market stall next to Dori’s on Quartz Street, a twin saber set she’d hung over her kitchen that had been liberated from that cleaver in the Mountains, Malkôv. It would be Ori who’d connect the dots (the large, conspicuous, observable from the depths of the deepest darkest hole in any mountain within the realm dots) and come to the conclusion that maybe their burglar was more than she’d let on. Bilbo should have known. Ori was never one to be overtly hostile to anyone, let alone a stranger. And though he’d certainly hidden it away quick enough during their first conversation, it had been an uncharacteristically sharp undertone through their interactions thus far. Nodding she rubbed her forehead and looked the lad in those big watchful jaspers, and not know what else to say she went with the first thing that came to mind, “What do you want?”

            This was not the right thing to say. His face instantly flushed red with restrained anger as he growled at her, “I want to know why you left! I want to know why you didn’t even say goodbye! Were we just something to entertain yourself with during your stays in the Mountain? Was it handy having a few dwarrow who could hole you up when the Guards came knocking? Do you even realize what you did to my _brother_ when you just didn’t ever come back!?” _What it did to me_ went unsaid, understood in the hunching of his shoulders as he sat across from her, hands grasping and clenching at the loose materials of his over large sweater.

            Tiny hands fluttered, as if to reach for the larger ones, “Oh Ori,” but they retreated almost instantly into her own clothes materials as Bilbo gnawed on her thoroughly abused bottom lip. Glancing off to the side she shifted to be on her knees, sitting on her heels as she stared at her lap, “I… You and your brother are as close as kin to me Ori, you’ve always been. I’m sorry I caused you such pain, it was never my intent – ”

            “Then why’d you do it!?” the lad’s voice was a bit choked as he stared at her hard, blinking a bit rapidly. As much accusation as there was in his voice, it was pain that radiated from the hunch of his shoulders and those clenching knitted fists.

            Looking at the lad try to keep his own tears at bay, her vision blurred as something tried to choke her, “I was a coward Ori. I didn’t, I couldn’t… He didn’t even know I was a _hobbit_!” She swiped an arm across her eyes as she stormed onto her feet. But their fellows swiftly followed those salty pioneers, a dam bursting in the lass as the fears and strain she’d been contending with since thirteen dwarrow of entirely too much familiarity had burst their way into her smial went with it. Words finally forming to identify her dread and insecurities, carried over miles and years, “I spent _years_ with you, all of you. Nori, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, even _Dwalin_! All of you, friends and allies! I cared for each of you. And when mother died you became _family_! A family I spent my seasons with, ran with, ate with, celebrated with, loved and took care of. Family who took care of me in turn. A refuge from the constant reminders of how I was alone now.” Her face was ravaged as she paced on the pathways weaving around the garden, tears streaking it, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot from continued attempts to wipe away moisture that just didn’t stop. A voice more tuned to light and casual banter, to laughter and sunny conversation, was weighed by grief and unspent sadness, cracking as she continued, “I’d go home to my Bagend, my _home_ , the one my _father_ built with his _bare hands_ , and listen to echoes of my parents, reliving the days leading up to my orphaning, the months of wasting and the last breaths.”

            A shaky smile trembled wetly on her lips as she turned her crumpling continence to her captive audience, even if she couldn’t actually see him through the damp blur, “And then I’d run away to the arms of my thi – my _friends_ and just forget. I’d forget how abandoned, how adrift I’d been left. I’d forget my _real_ family, waiting for me in the Shire.” Chartreuse, her eyes always seemed that watery yellow as they overflowed with reflective waters. She’d finally stopped pacing, standing, facing the dwarf; arms limp at her sides with their palms facing him in an unconscious plea for understanding… or penance. Dark curls fell over her face, shading her continued bereavement from the youth, at the same time it echoed to her own youth as a hooded menace. Plump lips were berry red from their abuse, standing out against the pale sheen on the tensed face as she continued, “My _real_ Gramma, who spent the months leading to her death asking for me, frantic for her good little granddaughter. The granddaughter she’d left her holdings to, who she was sure would keep our family safe and cared for. She was so happy to see me as she drew her own final breaths,” a watery laugh had the lad’s insides clenching in sympathy, “She even forgave me for being late. That was the kind of Lady she was. And I’d missed all that time with her, I almost missed saying goodbye, all… all… all for a pack of dwarrow who didn’t even know I was a _hobbit_!”

            Bilbo’s fists met her eyes, digging deep into the sockets, trying to root out the burning tears as shame racked through her again and again as she remembered her failings. She didn’t even realize she was heaving with her grief until Ori’s bracing arms wrapped around her, crushing the shaking body into his own as he made thick hushing noises, forcing his own tears back as he tried to maintain for the broken hobbit in his arms. When she began to grasp at his back, burrowing into his cardigan he couldn’t keep them back any longer. He’d been so hurt; she’d been his only real friend in the Mountains, the only person who appreciated his interest in books and studying. No one else had understood why he didn’t enjoy smith work or weapons training. His brothers encouraged him and went without for his benefit, but they didn’t understand. Nori wanted to give him the opportunities he’d been denied, the chance to pursue his passions, in the ways they were supposed to be expressed, something he could be proud of and wouldn’t have to fight others for acknowledgement. Dori wanted his life to be smoother than theirs were, a better life for at least _one_ Ri. But neither of them understood how he could spend hours on a single sentence, choosing the right words to convey a lyrical message as well as a physical one. Neither of them could comprehend the duplicity of language, or the gratifying feeling of using just the correct term with the perfect inflection for a given feeling or situation. They didn’t know the rush of knowledge, foreign and wild, being tamed by his avid mind.

            Bilbo had. She was a thief, no questions about it, but that was a hobby. Something she did for kicks, books, words, those were her passions. They’d have teas and lunches, chatting over a shared interest, passage, novel, history, anything. They’d steal into the libraries in the Royal Quarters, ‘borrowing’ tomes that had been taken from Erebor. She’d tell him stories of her exploits, but unlike Nori, who focused on the heist and the intricacies of the plans he’d execute, she’d regale him with the cultures and practices of the peoples she’d meet. Even bringing him books from those regions for his own interests. Sketching’s of the horses of Rohan during their summer festivals when they were braided and led through the streets in promenade, a new quill that was being fashioned by Men further to the South with the ink well inlaid within it, some curious books on the proper way to take an afternoon walk from the Shire.

            He’d been hurt, and angry, at the desertion, when he wasn’t terrified and grief stricken thinking she’d wasted away, alone, on the road somewhere, where no one would find her or know how truly spectacular she was. Preoccupied as he’d been with his own feelings of abandonment and what he’d presumed was her disregard, he’d never thought she’d been feeling it too. That she’d thought they’d abandon her for her race, because she wasn’t the dwarf they thought she was. Her guise had been for her protection, certainly, keeping her and her people safe from retribution, but it had torn her apart and away from them when she’d probably needed them the most.

            Ori could do nothing at the moment but hold his tiny friend and rock the pair as she finished spilling her grief into his cardigan. With each gut-wrenching sob he felt a little more of his resentment melt away. All that was left behind was a tired soul and a warm feeling of homecoming as her breathing evened out and the sniffling died down. A small smile lit his face as he murmured, “Well, that explains the beard.”

            The watery chuckle did his heart plenty of good. As she began to wipe at her streaming eyes, “Yeah, hobbit _males_ don’t grow them near that often, it’s near _impossible_ for our females. Though my Aunt Belba has been sporting a few chin whiskers for the better part of a decade now.”

            The pair shared that laugh. With a soothing rub to her back the dwarf smiled a bit as he asked, “Don’t think crying on me is going to get you out of this. You’re gonna have to teach me Sindarin, _at least_ , before I forgive you completely! Maybe even Quenya.”

            Another chuckle as she shook her head, “I don’t know Quenya.”

            “Well you better get started on learning so you can teach me. Mahal knows Dori won’t let me near an elf long enough to figure out how to say ‘hello’.”

            Her glare was tempered by her fond smile as she stated tritely, “Oh, and he’ll let you near me long enough to learn a _language_? I’ve never seen anyone so sure I was out to make off with another’s innocence, and I’ve lived with Tooks!”

            The blush was all Ori and entirely familiar, “He’s completely insane! I don’t even know why I _told_ him about the quest!” the moaning was maybe a bit loud as they could hear a scuffle from down below as the others started looking for the lad.

            With a wink and a finger to her lip to ensure silence she made off into the house, towards the library where she would begin her penance by introducing the lad to a certain librarian.

 

** Day Five ** ** : Ur… Dinner? **

 

            Of course, after Ori the rest came in droves.

            So when the door to her room burst off its hinges the next morning, she’d already made the brilliant decision to hide herself away (no, it had nothing to do with the lordlings). She’d almost congratulated herself on her cunning when a large calloused hand wrapped around her ankle and slid her out from under the bed. Bilbo really wasn’t at her best in the morning, doubly so when being held lightly aloft by her ankle. Smile a bit tarnished and eyes a mite too big for polite company the hobbit burglar greeted, “Hello Master Bifur!”

            The salt and pepper dwarf continued to stare at her prone body balefully _What were you doing under there?_

            Fool me once, shame on you, she blinked and put the most bemused look her sleep-addled mind could come up with, “What?” The throbbing on her head where it cushioned her fall suggested it may be a bit late to be playing dumb.

            Bifur was always growling so this wasn’t so new, but Bofur was traditionally more articulate. The noise that came from the miner was damn near feral as she found herself suddenly lifted up and onto the bed where he proceeded to rant and rave at her, making her feel more and more like a faunt caught using her mother’s good silver to dig for worms in the yard. “Don’ even think o’ puttin’ tha’ on again little miss! Tha’ cat’s out the bag and hissin’ in the neighbor’s yard. Where in Mahal’s name have you been!?” Really, she was fifty years old, people should have stopped using that tone and shaking their fingers at her ages ago.

            Bifur scowled, signed at her, _We’ve been looking for **days**_.

            “More like _years_!” Bombur nodded along with the other two, though his scowl was not near as impressive. Honestly he was such a creampuff it was hard to believe he could do anything this side of spiteful. Of course, the warg brains coating his ladle a sennight ago were a strong argument against said fluffy feelings. So it seemed Bilbo would be taking refuge in silence this morn, eyes fretfully flying anywhere but to the rightfully annoyed dwarrow caging her onto her bed.

            But even as she didn’t say anything Bofur was more than willing to fill the silence, “It’s been bleedin’ _years_ , no’ a sign or hair of ye. We thought ye ran foul on some nonsense wit yer thief or tha’ _insane_ lot ye ran about with now and again,” at some point he’d snatched his hat from his head and began waving it about for emphasis, wringing it between very strong hands. The sharp slap of the abused fur and leather on hard thigh caused Bilbo to start and raise large surprised eyes up to the towering prospector, “Then ye’ve signed yerself up fer _this mess_?! An’ no’ so much as a word ta any o’ us who ye were? Why didn’ ye tell us from the beginning?!”

            _I knew._

“What?!” Bofur, and Bilbo both turned surprised brown eyes on the addled toymaker.

            Bifur huffed and grunted in a sort of contained laugh before gesturing to the seated Halfling, _Voice hasn’t changed. Or her mouth. Still our little bit of Trouble._

            The incredulous look on her face gave way to something guilt ridden and mournful as she turned half hidden and glistening eyes back to the hatted dwarf. It was all Bofur needed to take the wind out of his sails, damp eyes and pinched lips being worried between sharp little teeth. Really it wasn’t in his nature to keep these harsher feelings heated in his bellows, and it became damned impossible when it was being snuffed out by sharp relief at seeing their little girl’d not only not _died_ but had grown up! And there she was sitting in front of them looking like a curly black haired pup’d been kicked. The battle was lost well before he passed his hand through her riotous curls and said softly, “Aye, there’s our wee bit o’ Trouble. Iff’n I hadn’t been sure from tha’ show with the wargs, tha’ there pout’s all too familiar.”

            Bombur was nodding from beside his brother, not any better at keeping a temper than Bofur, that’s what they had Bifur for after all. Not that he was doing anything of the sort at the moment, more concerned with keeping his little hodgepodge family healthy than being angry one’d squirreled off for a few decades. Near death experiences like the one he’d had in the Battle of Azanulbizar tended to shuffle priorities a bit. So anger Bombur wasn’t feeling, even though his jolly face fell into a bit of a scowl as he took in the loose fit of her gown, “You’ve no’ been eatin’ enough! We can’t have our lil’ Mouth goin’ hungry now!”

            Tears were in abundance these days it seemed as Bilbo’s lip trembled a bit before she collapsed into a second sobbing mess in as many days into Bofur’s arms. She stayed there a good while just letting the miner sooth her, petting her hair and murmuring softly about how they’d missed her and that everything was going to be okay now that she was back with them.

            “You’re so full of it. There’s at least one very large fire breathing reason things will _not_ be okay,” so she sounded a little thick in the chest as she brought her hands up to scrub at her face. Really now, she was middle aged, no reason to be melting all over everyone like a faunt. But that brought a thought to her head, “What the hell are you three even doing on this death trap mission?!”

            Bofur merely snorted as he continued to take in their grown little lass, “Stones an’ glass houses love. I’ve halfa mind ta leave ye here wit them elves. They seem fond enough o’ ye.”

            Of course Bilbo wasn’t havin’ any of that so she frowned fiercely, “I’m not letting you walk into a fire breather’s den alone! Of the four of us I’m the one with the most experience in these things any way you cut it!”

            _I’m the one who was there when the wyrm invaded!_

She scoffed, _Can’t be worse than a Balrog._ It took two seconds for her mouth to fall as she closed her eyes against the sheer _idiocy_. Honestly, she must still be asleep to be so damn stupid. Obviously Ingleshmek was to be her downfall.

            “Balrog!” Bombur squeaked as Bofur went slightly wild-eyed and began looking her over in earnest for anything missing or broken. Bifur would be expanding her vocabulary if only there was a way for her to mimic those grinding noises that Khudzul seemed to be comprised. It was only when Bofur tried to turn her upside-down again to look her feet over that she found her verve once again.

            “I’m fine. I’m FINE!” she shouted as she wiggled away from the overstressed Urs and tumbled backwards off the bed again. Her cheeky grin back to full glow as she tried to contain her amusement, “I’m fine… And I missed you quite a lot.”

            Group hugs were ridiculous but very necessary. Of course everyone heard Bombur’s stomach growl at them and that caused the heart warming reunion to fall into mirth as the four left to find someplace quiet and secluded to break fast. And maybe discuss what _else_ their little Trouble had been getting into since they’d last parted.

***

            “Thought you’d turned into a turnip lass,” Dwalin’s rumble met her, as she settled between the Ur brothers later that night, Bifur inserting himself none to gently into the previously occupied space in front of her.

            With a small apologetic smile in Glóin’s disgruntled direction as she layered some nutty brown mushroom clusters onto her plate, thanking Bombur for the extra helping of bread, she replied to the guard’s greeting, “You should have the Lord Elrond and his healers check you over Dwalin. Maybe they can do something about that mange you’re so clearly suffering.”

            That led to a few grumbles at the table and Glóin’s none to soft exclamation, “I’d sheer me own beard off befur I let the likes of them near it!”

            She was pretty sure her eye was going to develop a constant tic with these annoying racists running about, “So lets be clear, Orcs, Wargs, Rabbits, and Wizards are par for the course. Greenery and fine lodgings, well that’s just too bleedin’ much! The nerve of those pointy-eared bastards! Can’t they see that it takes years of hard labor, near death experience, and sleeping on pointy rocks to instill the innate dwarvish charm you all display on a near daily basis?”

            “There’s more to it than tha’ lass,” Dwalin grumbled as he drank heavily from his flagon. He wasn’t old enough to have tried to fight off the dragon, but he was old enough to remember the flames and the screaming, and he was old enough to remember turning from the smoke and watching as the Elves turned their backs and fled them.

            Bilbo narrowed her eyes in annoyance, “Really? Because all I’m seeing are a bunch of louts trying to out do one another in embarrassing themselves. Not that you’re particularly charming to begin with but we’ve reached new lows since we arrived.”

            “Hey now! I for one am quite charmin’ if I do say so myself. There’s nary a lassie not charmed right off her feet by me easy grin and quick steppin’!” Bofur sprang up onto the table and was bouncing a merry little jig, dancing with his huge grin plastered to his face around the dishes and goblets of the company, handily dissipating the tensions that had sprung up. Nori smirked seeing the tight faced disapproval on a number of the tall folk, raising a brow as he spotted a few spattered about that were smiling and laughing with the miner, including their famed host apparently. Though he near wet himself laughing at one in particular who had drained his goblet and placed his head wearily onto the table in front of him. The frazzled elf cast his goblet out for more wine, which he received from a calmly reserved elf that gave the impression of disinterest and disconnectedness. Even so he managed to dodge easily when a spare potato flew by and continued to refill the wailing one’s cup.

            His gaze sharpened a bit as he laid eye on the Halfling in their midst once more. His smirk became a full grin as she thumped on the table with the rest of the gathering and added her own lilting voice to the chorus as naturally as though she were dwarf-born… Actually… and here his braided brow turned down a moment because that’s exactly what was happening. Bofur was singing a traditional dwarrow drinking song. Not that she was singing in Khudzdul but he couldn’t think of a time during their travels thus far they’d been given over to the kind of revelry for anyone to regale her before now.

            Turning his thoughts back to the party he watched as Bofur stropped down the table and paused to coax the hobbit onto her feet. She had some pink riding high on her cheeks, dusting her nose as she tried to take her hands back from the gloved grasp but with some encouraging thumps from Bombur and a growling holler from Bifur she was grinning as the toymaker hauled her up onto the table. She rolled dancing amber eyes as she gave a dainty little curtsy to the table as the rest howled in approval. Turning her head to look at Bofur from over her shoulder she held up her left hand, her right placed on the curve of her waist, and raised her brow in affectionate challenge. The miner laughed heartily and placed his right hand onto her own and snagged her left as he led the pair down a bouncing rendition of a merry little dance, the pair breathlessly singing with the company, laughing as they went.

            Mutable eyes narrowed for an altogether different reason now, watching to make sure those hands didn’t stray from their designated positions. Bofur was hardly one of the nobles, given to certain protocol where womenfolk were concerned, not that Nori’d be any more entertained by a noble grasping the tiny waist. Dwarrow had strict laws about the handling of womenfolk, though every now and again you’d find some that viewed this outdated or didn’t expand towards the other races. The nobility that did carried these laws to the letter, but the more common among them were far more relaxed in their wooing, or their treatment of bedsport. Those like Nori were fully reprehensible by comparison

            As the song came to a resounding finish with the cacophony of voices rising at the final chorus and banging even louder Bofur twirled the laughing hobbit on her feet into a sweeping dip. Amber eyes closed at the swirl of color, laughing harder as the world tilted, one foot coming right off the table and pointing towards the ceiling at the same level as Bofur’s head, black curls riotous as they rippled onto the wood behind her. And as quick as he dove her he hauled her back up and towards himself, hands clasping her own as she span into his chest, the slight upset to her balance accommodated by the miner’s strength and chest. While the rest applauded in clear appreciation for the nimble footed and charming entertainment Nori’s own vision began to blur a bit, red at the edges. The only thing that saved Bofur from a swiftly thrown butter knife was the dwarf releasing the Halfling, only settling her as she took a dizzy step forward and turned a smiling face to her partner, making another quaint little curtsy. The ridiculous dwarf clasped a hand to his chest at the regal gesture and smiled largely as he gave an overly dramatic bow, brandishing his hat as he leaned so low his mustache dragged the dirtied table. Popping back up the prospector chuckled as he caught the eye roll of the lass, said something only she heard and deposited his hat onto her head, falling over the mocking globes as it settled over the too tiny head.

            And suddenly Nori’s blood chilled colder than the deepest darkest winter.

 

** Day Six ** ** : Spawns of Morgoth **

 

            “I don’t know what the pair of you want from my life but it had damn well better wait for a decent hour of the morning next time!” the huffy, and still fluffy hobbit hissed as she stormed through the halls after slamming her room’s door behind her. The abysmal lock picking attempts of the Royal Family had woken her _yet again_. Seeing as she was barely able to see past the thrumming in her alcohol infused head she was hardly pleased with the world at large, never mind Kíli bellowing like a wounded warg about his brother’s mental fortitude. So with a grumble she’d shimmied into pants and marched off in search of a head tonic… or Glorfindel, the elf’s hands were magic after all.

            Before she could storm all half down the hall, however, she was detained by strong arms as her face was suddenly shoved into a tunic that could do with a much more thorough cleaning than it had received, “Thank you Master Boggins!”

            She spat bits of soiled fabric out her mouth and squirmed against the arms, eventually turning herself in them and using the new position to push back and away from the suffocating child, “What in Arda _for_!?” she’d make double damned sure never to do it again.

            Fíli laughed as he watched the hobbit struggle in his brother’s grateful embrace. From this angle and with all that hair she looked just like that cat that used to come by for scraps when they were younger. It would yowl and hiss but never scratch or bite when the younger prince grasped it up and dragged the beast all over the halls with him. But rumination was for the old; this was a time for proper action. The golden prince knelt in front of the struggling Halfling and affected his most regal persona, “Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, as Crown Prince of the Durin Line, for the life saving services you’ve performed on behalf of my brother, you have my gratitude and my solemn oath. My sword arm is yours from hereto our debt has been repaid in kind.”

            Bilbo had stopped struggling and hung from his brother’s grasp limply, staring at him with amber shaded eyes a moment before _bursting_ into riots of laughter. Fíli frowned as Kíli began to heave as well and then scowled as the pair fell to the ground when they went to use the other for support and found it blatantly lacking.

            “Oh Mahal!”

            “Did you see his face?!”

            “Ah, he’s so fuckin’ _regal._ ”

            “The same dwarf who let a troll sneak by him.”

            “I wish mum had been here.”

            “I wish _Thorin_ had been here!”

            “And exactly why would that be Halfling?” you see, Thorin’s scowl could kill an orc army, to say nothing of the levity of a situation. At least as far as his nephews were concerned as the pair instantly leaped to their feet and behind their uncle’s back like good soldiers.

            Bilbo was far from impressed as she continued to chuckle softly and mop at her eyes from her seated position on the floor, “If you can imagine it, your highness, I do miss your face from time to time.”

            When Thorin just stood there glowering at her she sighed and flipped her hair out of her eyes before training them on their perturbed leader, “Why can’t we be friends? _Why_ can’t we be friends? _Shouldn’t_ we be friends? I’m sure I’ve read _somewhere_ that there are just certain events that guarantee instant friendship, and I’m doubly sure that one of those events was facing mountain trolls together[11].”

            “… Leave us.”

            It was like the pair had never been as Thorin continued to watch the odd creature as she rose to her feet and dusted imaginary dust off her clothes. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he disliked most at the moment, the lack of respect, the closeness she shared with these pointy-eared bastards, or how much she resembled them when she was garbed in their cloth. Seeing as it all added up to the same thing, his scowl continued as he narrowed his eyes in distrust, “I don’t want you near them again. Do we understand one another?”

            Bilbo bristled at the implication she’d do _anything_ to a child, no matter they were grown the pair had the brain of a turnip to share between them and were filled with mischief, i.e. children. Not to mention she’d been trying to avoid them since they got there she’d just been doing a shit job of it, “I’m not the one that sought out your precious heirs Master Dwarf. Perhaps it isn’t me you need to be chatting with if you’re so convinced I’ll do some grave wrong to you and yours.”

            She’d expected him to reiterate or go further into just what kind of dog he thought her. She was very surprised by the turn in the conversation, “I don’t know what you’re hiding, Hobbit, but secrets cannot live long in a group such as this. It will come to light sooner rather than later and I will deal with you then. Pray Mahal that whatever it is doesn’t get any of this Company hurt or killed because their loss will come out of your hide.” Then with all the majesty Fíli so desperately tried to recreate he stormed down the hall after his kin.

            Bilbo let her head fall back as she addressed the ceiling, “Why me?”

***

            “No.”

            “Bu-”

            “No.”

            “Plea-”

            “No.”

            “We won’t-”

            “Lies.”

            “Why are you so-”

            “Slander.”

            “BILBO!!!”

            The hobbit lass barely raised her brown eyes to arch a less than amused glance up, up, up at the pair of elfish twins. For a moment they glowed just that much brighter as unwarranted hope reined through them, before the hobbit huffed and burrowed back into her book turning the page sharply with a stern, “No!”

            It was a sight to see such elegance looking so ruffled and downhearted. Elrohir grumbled disgruntled at being thwarted, leaving the pouting to Elladan. For as similar as the lads were in skill and face, they were very different, and the mistake was yours alone should you forget that.

            Either way, the rest of the Company was having a time hiding their own entertainment and awe. Most of them at least. The Urs had taken off into the elfish sanctum to see about locating the larder. After that first night the elves had taken to broadening the selections at dinner, meat abounding, but that still left two meals open for improvement and the lads were kind of missing their Bombur’s home cooking. Nori hadn’t been seen since dinner the previous night but it was popular opinion he was getting up to no good. Seeing as it was the elves that would be falling victim Dwalin didn’t see the reason to find out exactly what fashion this ‘no good’ was taking. That left him free to shadow his King and brother who’d both taken to shadowing their newly returned burglar, all three of which were having a small dissociative episode by the arched hall that led onto their claimed terrace. Glóin wasn’t too far behind them but he was obviously taking this in a more sinister fashion as he glared suspiciously at them. Dori was almost sitting on Ori by the fountain as the lad was taking these ‘friendly’ elves as a sign to expand his knowledge base and Óin was content being a deaf fuck. Honestly none of them had ever been privy to an elf being anything but calm, snooty and superior. The way this pair acted was so blatantly not it was causing some mental anguish in all of them for assorted reasons. If you didn’t put too fine a point on it the pair seemed almost like…

            “What’s going on?” Kíli finally burst from where his brother and he had been sitting nearby the tree their burglar had claimed for her bookish pursuits. The lad had been all but quaking with curiosity from the moment the tall pair had burst into their cove. No elf had tried to do such since those first days, not all that keen on seeing naked hairy asses or being glared into a grave. But these two hadn’t even spared the lot of them a glance before shouting unison, “ _Duáth_!” and rushing their hobbit. At which point they’d been sternly put in their place by the looks of things and Kíli really wanted to be part of anything that made elves look so downtrodden. Even if it was making his Uncle scowl at them and the burglar from where he was sitting with Balin and Dwalin across the way.

            One of the elves, really they all looked the same as the other already without also being twins as these were, turned his scowling face to the eager brown pup and said, in as stately a fashion as you could imagine, “She won’t play conkers with us.”

            “ _You_ do not want to play conkers. _You_ want to be made a fool of and I’ve had enough of that this week. Mayhap come Mersday I’ll feel differently,” turn the page; make a note to ask Erestor about a dictionary in Quenya seeing as these older texts seemed to enjoy mixing the language with Sindarin for optimum illegibility and frustration.

            “Conkers?” Fíli couldn’t keep his own curiosity bridled once his brother’s was unleashed, he may be heir but he was a big brother first, and thus well versed in what would be blatantly unfair.

            “Didn’t you say something about that when we were in your hole?” Kíli’s face was maybe this side of too innocent as his liquid brown eyes stared at the suddenly pink hobbit where she sat doing her level best to ignore the duo of paired menaces.

            The elves actually _snickered_. Fíli was suddenly torn between popping Kíli in the head for thwarting their goal with the burglar and falling on his ass in shock. In the end he needn’t do either as the _other_ elf smiled down on them with a serene expression more in lines with what he was used to from the tall folk, if a bit friendlier than he was expecting and offered, “Well since _Duáth_ is otherwise engaged, would you like to play a game?”

            “We could show you how.”

            “It’s a fun way to waste a day.”

            “Good exercise.”

            “Not hard at all.”

            “You’ll pick it up quick as anything.”

            Bilbo barely managed it, but she turned the shudder she felt running through her at the twin threat into something more of a slight flinch. Seeing this, Fíli and Kíli looked at each other with their own-mirrored grins.

            “I wouldn’t mind learning something new.”

            “Balin’s always after us to ‘ _expand our minds_ ’.”

            “We could certainly use the exercise.”

            “Rest is good but too much and we’ll go soft.”

            “It’s also an opportunity to learn more about our resident Hobbit.”

            And then all Arda shuddered at the twin’s devilish glee as they joined in.

            “It’s a cultural exchange!”

            “Elf, Hobbit, Dwarf relations.”

            “You _are_ Uncle Thorin’s heir.”

            “And we’re to take after _adar **[12]**_.”

            “Balin always complains we’re abysmal at diplomacy.”

            “So does Master Erestor.”

            “To be fair so is Uncle.”

            “Not to mention most of our race relations occur in battle with Orcs.”

            “Who can fault you for that?”

            “Even dwarrow can’t stand them.”

            “Who on Arda can?”

            “Not even their own mothers.”

            “Do orcs have mothers?”

            “Where else would they come from Kíli?”

            “No, he’s a point.”

            “I’ve never been able to distinguish sex among them.”

            “Though we also aren’t usually engaged in looking so much as hunting.”

            “They’re so ugly I can’t imagine they’d _want_ to breed.”

            “Ew.”

            “That’s uncalled for Fee!”

            “I don’t think I can unsee what my mind just imagined.”

            “You’re immortal, I’m sure it will fade.”

            “Immortal, yes, forgetful? Not so much.”

            “What would a _baby_ look like?”

            “That’s just wrong.”

            “Tiny as a hobbit and green with snarly teeth?”

            “Would it be born with _fangs_?”

            “Is _anything_ born with fangs?”

            “I think teeth come in after.”

            “What if they chew through their mother’s stomach[13]?!”

            “That would explain why we’ve never seen a female.”

            “What if the males have the babies? Lindir has plants like that.”

            “Ew.”

            “Ew, indeed, Master Dwarf.”

            “Kíli.”

            “And Fíli!”

            “ **At your service**!”

            “Elrohir.”

            “Elladan.”

            “ **At yours and your families**.”

            “OH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S SACRED MAKE IT STOP!” To everyone’s surprise, none more so than his own brother, Óin was the one who finally broke. The greybeard rushed over to the quartet of _annoying_ , reached down and plucked the, somehow unfazed hobbit (her tolerance was quite high actually, especially since the advent of Adalgrim’s triplet daughters. They’d just turned eleven that year and were already well versed in spinning people’s heads about). “Take it, and if I see any of ye before dinner I’ll skin ye all,” and here Bilbo did squeak as she was thrust up and into Elrohir’s grasp. The elf instantly donning his shit eating grin as he used one long hand to muffle the indignant hobbit. There was some debate over whether her indignation was over the manhandling or being referred to as an ‘it’.

            Fíli and Kíli looked at the medic with wide eyes for a moment before turning hopeful gazes over to their uncle. Thorin was clutching his head while mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer and Dwalin was barely being restrained by Glóin, so it was Balin who answered them in a weary sigh, “Go! Just go. An’ don’ break anythin’. Especially not the hobbit!”

            That same indignant squeak was heard from Bilbo just before she was rushed out of the glen.

            Ori just sat on the ground pouting as his brother continued to fuss over his hair and the state of his knitwear. The lad looked like nothing but a disgruntled kitten being lapped at by its over zealous mother. And honestly, the less time the lad spent around that she-witch the better.

***

            She wasn’t sure if she should pat herself on the back or end it all now. Bilbo had just _known_ schooling those two pairs of roughnecks would end in pain and suffering. Most likely her _own_ pain and suffering. Spending the day with the trolls, teaching them tricks and traps, avoiding Fíli’s poorly aimed conkers and Elrohir’s enthusiastically aimed ones was very tiring for any hobbit, never mind one of middle age. She was presently feeling every ache her poor atrophied muscles could supply her. So it was completely within reason that after letting herself into her bedroom with a groan she was more concerned with making her way to her bed than observing the sinister presence pervading her sanctum.

            A mistake she paid for as she found herself brutishly grasped round the chest as a piece of fabric wrapped about her eyes. With a sharp push she careened backwards into the door she’d just entered and was held there by a solid body against her own. A rough hand came up to sharply pinch her chin and turn it upward where she felt her attackers breath skitter across her face and heard it catch. Training kicked in, a little late but she was _retired_ and in _Rivendell_ for Yavanna’s sake! Her left arm came up to punch at a throat, causing the catch to turn into a coughing gasp. It also caused the body to wrench away from her own allowing her to crouch and swing her right leg out and under the bastard. She heard the grunt as he fell to the floor and quickly unsheathed her right butterfly as she twirled onto the felled aggressor, pining him with her knees on his forearms as she placed her knife tip on a cheek. Breathing heavily Bilbo reached her other hand around quickly to unfurl the length of brown silk she used as a belt from her face and toss it before fixing her harsh glare onto her captive. Seeing the elaborately braided red hair and mutable hazel eyes of the Company’s thief caused a shock to roll through her, “What the _hell_ Nori!?” She quickly sheathed the knife and slapped the thief’s chest in exasperation, “Really this is taking our game a bit far don’t you think?!”

            He barely registered the love tap as he stared up into seething brown eyes. Pink was riding high on plump cheeks while a pair of lush lips thinned in aggravation. Ignoring those luminous pools he finally saw what his instincts had been all but screaming at him since he’d tumbled into the lass that first night in her burrow. Soft curves he’d missed like a parched man missed water pressing against him in just the right ways. Creamy skin that freckled lightly at the bridge of a pert nose, one would have to be inches away to detect them, but as often as he’d found himself a hairs breadth from this little sprout it wasn’t any wonder he knew the count of them at this point. Silky, soft, clean cheeks that pinked under the lightest of his scrutiny and darkened with heightened emotion and arousal. That corner dimple that only popped into being when she was being a mischievous little shit, like when she ran around escaping the lads or was sending Dwalin on a merry chase through the mountains. Lush lips, a pillowed bliss he could never get enough of as he chased this little piece of tail through some of the best nights of his sordid life. All come together and back in his arms for the first time in fifteen bleedin’ years.

            It’s no surprise his first reaction was to thrust forward and claim that scowling mouth for his own once again. His sharp motion dislodged the surprised creature’s knees and freed his hands to thrust into the silky curls, allowing him greater purchase as he plastered the plump form to his harder one. He kept firm hold as she stiffened in his arms, through a moment of uncertainty before melting as she opened up to him once more. He’d never thought to feel or hear or smell or taste this travesty again. And with the release of guilt over the uncertainty surrounding her fate came a sweet relief that peppered the embrace in reverence. He slowly savored her mouth as he catalogued flavors and texture for any future drought, nibbled at plump lips he’d never found an equal to, roved hands down and over mounds and curves to burn into his sensory memory. The small mewls she made as he caressed and explored this familiar bounty made something in him rumble and settle, the noises echoing with memories of years past. The shivers shaking something in him as he roamed lower, over the plump ass and used the thick thighs to hike the quivering mass up and into his own undulating body. When that caused a breathless gasp of, “Nori!” he all but lost himself as he growled and twirled the pair so that he was braced above the panting hobbit resting his forehead against her own as he nibbled at the berry red lips, “Stones and fire, Petal.”

            At the endearment everything heated suddenly froze. She stiffened beneath him like a rabbit in a snare as he laid one last lingering open mouth kiss to the column of lightly tanned skin under her jaw. Opening his eyes he found himself pinned by frightfully large amber eyes, luminescent orbs that screamed of her shock as surely as if she’d shouted it at him herself. And with that came a cold wave through his overheated system as his mind caught up to his body. As familiar as body and mouth and sound suggested she was to him, this sweet little lamb had eyes as large as saucers and as deeply golden brown as summertime honey. She had curls as black as night that laid waste to any attempts to tame them. This wasn’t a darkly clad, nimble, half grown _dwarrowdam_ thief in the night; this was a brightly colored tricky little _hobbit_ that he’d only met little over a month ago.

            Bilbo barely dared breath as she watch Nori’s face move from something flushed and laconically contented to something darkly closed before turning bland as toast as he leaned back up on his heels and staring down at her face, “What are you doing here?”

            She swallowed the bile that was threatening to close her throat as she lay under her thief and licked her dry lips, Nori’s eyes flashing after the pink organ as it snuck out and in, “I… I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about Master Nori.”

            She never had known when enough was enough. Suddenly finding herself thrust against a wall once more, though this time being held there by bruising hands instead of a taut body, should be a great lesson for the tiny burglar. Staring up into mutable eyes gone dark and vicious she wondered why she’d never thought of any kind of contingency plan for just this happening. “Don’t play with me Petal. No more games, now what the hell are you doing here?!” Nori’s gravel tones were more menacing than any enraged shout could be at the end of his inquiry.

            To combat the lack of grace she received from her mother, she also inherited the elder’s cool temperament, “The hell kind of question is that!? I’m here to see you march merrily into the giant maw of a fire breathing monster!” She threw her weight into her shoulders and arms, thrusting the enraged dwarf away from her as she stormed into his space, “What the _hell_ are _you_ doing here!? What kind of care is this to take of _Ori_?! Letting him sign up for this suicide mission! It would have been kinder if I’d let him drown!”

            Happily she was well matched in her patience and charming disposition by the dwarf in question, “It would have been _kinder_ had he never laid eyes on you in the first place!” he pushed the lass away as he stalked over to the other side of the room, hands clasping and releasing as he attempted to prevent himself from punching a hole in something. He turned sharp yellow brown eyes on the seething little lass, “Do you know what it did to him when you didn’t come back?!”

            “That’s got nothing to do with –”

            “ ** _WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!_** ” Nori’s roar cut her off sharply as he heaved trying to regain something like calm.

            Bilbo stood frozen as she watched the play of uncontrolled emotion wreck through her dwarf. His hands shook as they came up to curl into his temples and his eyes wavered about the room, anywhere but her as they took on a more pinched appearance, his breath rasped as he tried to desperately reel himself in. She’d never hoped to see him this out of sorts, this far from the cheerful flirt she’d known on the road and the sweetly teasing louse in the mountains. “Nori, I –”

            He recoiled so quickly from her reach she thought he’d surely send himself through the wall, “Stay away from me. Stay away from my brothers and stay away from me.” The demand was soft for all it was biting as he turned heading to leave through the door.

            It cut deeply hearing such spite drenching his voice as he writ her off, “You know I would _never_ hurt Ori –” her protest was cut off sharply as strong hands thrust her up and into the wall. Her sight spun a moment at the impact and she grasped the arms pinning her above the ground, keeping her breath shallow as she hung there staring into the sharp, reddened face of her thief. Tears came to her eyes as she clawed and gasped at the dwarf.

            “You _will_ stay away from them. If I catch you near my family from here out I’ll throw you off the nearest ravine and rid us of the taint of your life and memory,” and he threw her down like so much debris as he swept out of the room, slamming her door behind him, actually cracking the top hinge leaving it swinging lopsidedly from the uninjured clasp.

            Bilbo rose onto her arms and knees. Her breath was catching from the grip he’d had on her, obviously. Her body was heaving from the sudden fall, nothing more. Adrenaline was what had her limbs trembling as she tried to support her weight on her arms and knees. It was only her gasping breaths leaving her throat that sounded so broken and wet as she curtained her face in her dark curls. And it was only relief and some stray dust that had her eyes streaming as she sank to the ground once more, clutching her stomach and rocking side to side as her clammy forehead hit the floor.

 

** Day Seven ** ** : Avoiding Nori **

 

            The next morning marked the end of the Company’s first week in Imladris, which they embraced with all the graciousness they’d given every indication they were capable of. The warriors were grumbling, their King was sulking, and the rest of the lads were bemused and still complaining about the grating elfish music. Really it was akin to torture and hardly befitting to subject guests to. No matter how ornery they proved to be.

            Breakfast was in full swing when the Urs finally stumbled into the hall, a still grumbly Bifur falling into his cushioned seat beside the equally as grumbly Dwalin, morning people dwarrow were not. Bofur’s brow furrowed as he sat down in his seat next to Bifur, “Where’s Bilbo?”

            “Looks like we’ve lost the burglar again,” Dwalin grumbled into his cup as he swigged whatever their hosts were serving them this morning. The grimace on his face afterwards informed the rest it was par for the course.

            Glóin was poking at the oddly yellow porridge they’d served this morning with deep suspicion, “Aye, suppose the lads broke the wee thing.” As a unit the cousins turned disapproving glares at the two Durin lads.

            Kíli instantly turned large eyes on the trio and pointed in affront, “We didn’t do anything!”

            “ _And Smaug’s a ferret_ ,” Bifur grumbled as he took the heads off a posy that was probably supposed to be a table decoration based on the horrified squeak coming from the elf steward.

            “She was fine when we parted ways last eve,” Fíli insisted as he glanced towards the entrance to the dining area once more, hoping against hope their tiny friend would manifest. He wasn’t sure which was scarier at the moment, the harsh tearing and harsher glare coming from the addled Ur or the tight lipped menace he was receiving from the _happy_ one as he gripped the table in front of him.

            “Well something happened to her,” little did anyone realize Ori was the one they should have been concerned with as the lad scowled as he hid the cup he’d accidentally crushed in his grasp. They’d _just_ gotten her back. Was it really too much to hope she’d stay put for a day or two before scurrying off on her own again?

            “I’m sure she’ll pop back in when she’s done with whatever it is she’s doing with these elves.” The elder Ri sniffed delicately as he poured himself another cuppa, “Besides, _you_ should be concerning yourself with your studies and documenting the Company’s journey.”

            The clear disinterest in the elder Ri’s tone set Bofur’s teeth to aching as he scowled at the prissy shit, “Well she’s part of the Company ain’t she?”

            A dwarf didn’t get to be Balin’s advanced age by being stupid, the advisor could smell an argument five provinces over and seven days in the making. Seeing the Ur’s tensing where they sat, Bombur rolling his cherished ladle in his hands, and Nori’s quick fingers running over a few choice seems in his clothing the royal thought it may be time to take hold of the situation. In his sagest tone, Balin calmly announced, “No one is denying that. But the lassie is rather comfortable in these halls. And our hosts seem to hold her in no small amount of affection. I’m sure she’s as safe here as she was in her green hills.”

            “Wouldn’ trust these daisy pinchers as far as I could throw an Oliphant,” Glóin was going to be excommunicated from the line of Durin if the scowl Balin sent him was anything to go by.

            “Do you think they’re keeping her somewhere?” Ori’s eyes went as shifty as he was capable, still missing the mark of menacing by a league, as he seemed to be squinting at the elves around the room.

            “Of course not lad, what would they do with a Halfling?” Nori’s voice was level as he patted his younger brother on the shoulder, taking a slug from his cup as he did so. It was only a moment but it was enough for him to miss the far sharper glance little Ori shot him before continuing his squinting circuit of the room.

            Bofur slammed his hands on the table, “I’m gettin’ tired of this. Iffn’ she was anyone else ye’d be tearin’ the place apart lookin’ fer her. Cause the lass isn’t a dwarrow she’s less important?”

            Dori puffed up at the clear menace coming from the miner and sent him a sharp look as he stood and shifted a bit to cover his brothers just that much more with his own body, “Now, Master Bofur, you’re being an alarmist. She is safer with the elves than we are.”

            “It’s no’ the elves we’re worried about,” Bombur grumbled under his breath while Bofur and Dori engaged in a fierce stare down.

            “Watch it laddie,” Dwalin’s sharp growl was accompanied by a baleful glare as Bombur turned his chubby scowl to the guard.

            “Eh, blow it out yer arse,” Bofur grumbled as he grasped Bombur up and the pair marched out the hall, Bifur following after sending a few pointed gestures to the rest of the table. As appealing as it was to remain and make some of their Company eat their words (or the table), their time was better spent finding their Little Trouble.

            Ori popped out of his seat in an instant, “Wait! I’m coming too!”

            “No you’re not!” Nori and Dori bounced up and grabbed at the younger lad’s arms.

            “ _Now_ you agree with me!?” Dori demanded as he continued to hold his youngest brother and glare at the other.

            “Are you really angry because I _do_?!” Nori’s tone was incredulous as he returned the hostile sentiment.

            “The only time you agree with me is when you’re up to something!” Dori insisted as he pushed Ori off to the side so he could get a clearer view of the red head.

            “Mahal’s balls, is there any winning with you!?”

            “Watch your language!”

            “Or what? You’ll spank me?”

            “Don’t think you’re too old to be taken over my knee!”

            “ _You’re_ too old to _catch_ me!”

            The argument allowed Ori to muscle his way out from under his brother’s grasp. The lad scowled as he walked away from the pair, he wasn’t sure what had happened to Bilbo but he was beginning to suspect it had to do with his idiot brother. Leave it to Nori to cock things up for himself and everyone else just as everything was settling down! Ori glared at the pair as he ran off after the Urs.

***

            She was disgusted with herself. It was as simple and complicated as that. She’d been five kinds of fool, letting herself be caught unawares as she had last night (and a number of weeks ago in her own smial (and a number of years ago in those thrice cursed mountains (honestly, at this point she wasn’t sure she shouldn’t just send letters out to all the corners of the world letting everyone know just who she was, what she was, and how to reach her in The Shire))). Worse yet, she’d just taken it. She’d let her guilt over the years paint her into a corner that the damned thief had exploited and now she had the tender back and knees to remind her why you didn’t let anyone get that close. Really she’d been a bad friend, a shitty daughter/granddaughter, and a failure at her profession. There was literally nothing redeemable about herself in this moment.

            Her Aunt Donnamira had said it best; there were days you just weren’t going to get on with _anyone_ , and there were days that included yourself.

            As she couldn’t divest herself of her own company she took to the next best thing. Make everyone _else_ wish to divorce themselves from her company and association.

            “Lindir! Oh my goodness have you _seen_ this enchanting book of lyrics!? I must say I didn’t realize there was so much depth in the animal kingdom. Do you happen to know if Glorfindel ever actually did find just what the fox says[14]?”

            Figwit was a good warm up.

***

            “ _Dúath_! We’ve been looking for you!”

            “What did you do to your door?!”

            “Elladan, Elrohir! I was hoping you’d find me. I’ve been wanting to introduce you lads to another game we’ve got in the Shire.”

            “Really? What is it called?”

            “Tag.”

            “ _Dúath_ , elflings play tag.”

            “Yes, but do they play tag on the roof?”

            Elrond wasn’t too impressed with the results of this cultural exchange.

***

            “Gloryhole! Did you know–”

            “I have killed Balrogs for sport little _marta_.”

            “See you later tumbleweed!”

            She was angry with herself, not suicidal.

***

            “Erestor!”

            “Miss Bilbo?”

            “HI!”

            “…”

            “Erestor?”

            “… Miss Baggins?”

            “ _Mae govannen_[15]!”

            “…”

            “Erestor?”

            **silent stare**

            “ _Gamut sanu yenet_[16]”

            **pointedly ignoring her**

            “Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. Erestor. ErestMMPH!”

            It took her the better part of an hour to separate her lips once more. Who knew Bookbinding solution was so effective?

***

            Seeing as she obviously wasn’t fit to be anywhere near polite company (or impolite as it were) she found herself being corralled onto a solitary balcony by Elrond after the upset she’d caused in the kitchens before lunch. Sequestered in a comfy chair, an intricately carved wooden chess set placed before her and a bowl of her favored summer berries and clotted cream at her side, Bilbo was threatened upon pain of death if she left the room before she was in a more consumable attitude (and by death Elrond had told her he’d make her roommates with Glorfindel for the remainder of her stay if she didn’t stop behaving like a petulant faunt). She could just picture Gramma Baggins’ face if she’d been able to see her youngest granddaughter sprawled out on the poofy wicker chair as she was, hair a cascading mess, high necked tunic rumpled and feet swinging over one arm as her head was cushioned in the other. Surprisingly enough thoughts on her gramma didn’t turn her foul mood into anything glowing as she munched on a strawberry, letting the juice in the thing sooth the ripped skin on her abused lips. Dull amber eyes glared down at a cherrywood rook in her hands as she sighed and scooped an unhealthy amount of cream onto the last nibble of her strawberry.

            “Do you play, Master Baggins?”

            She tilted her head backward over the armrest and saw the old codger standing there, watching her with a politely inquisitive smile in his downy white beard. Blinking slowly she deadpanned, “Not with peoples that stand on their head.” Instead of the confussion she’d been internally hoping for she receieved a raised brow and an unimpressed smirk as the dwarrow moved to the chair in front of her. Bilbo blew her bangs out of her eyes as she righted herself in the chair to face her new opponent, “By all means,” she gestured languidly at the gameset[17].

            Balin, being the bleached wood took first move and placed his Queen’s pawn in the center of the board.

            Barely glancing at the pawn Bilbo moved her Queen’s Knight out.

            Balin nodded as he moved his King’s pawn forward

            Bilbo sighed as she leaned her elbow onto the table and fixed her gaze on the advisor, moving her own King’s pawn to meet his.

            They kept at it in silence. Bilbo keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the elder and his kept firmly on the board. Neither loosing too much ground or gaining it, the middle of the field a bloodbath of feints and failed attempts at control. Bilbo was fond of squirreling her Knights about the table, Balin corralling them with his Bishops. First blood was struck by Balin, first battle won by Bilbo and they continued to dance about. Finally, both armies were rather depleted and they were playing defensive offense, posturing as they went along with their lonely Kings and the few subjects left to them.

            It was Balin who broke the silence “Hmm, I see you’re one for unique strategy Master Baggins. Rather straight forward at first glance but you build a strong defence behind it.”

            “… We’re doing this? Is this a thing we do now?” Balin’s bushy white brow raised as he glanced up at the incredulous child in front of him. She’d been watching him the whole time, making no attempt to hide her inquiry as to his presense here. He’d been rather stalwart in ignoring it, easing into this conversation in his own time, something she’d allowed, though not graciously. His steady gaze had her snorting as she threw herself back into her chair, “Master Balin, I have neither the patience or disposition at present to dance through your trappings, speak plain or leave me to my wallowing like everyone else.”

            The older dwarf was silent a moment before calmly moving his King a step backwards and turning sharp icy blue eyes towards the sulking hobbit, “I don’t suppose, in your self imposed isolation you’ve come across the young Princes?”

            Rolling her eyes she moved her King forward in chase, “No, Master Dwarf, can’t say I’ve seen the pups since yesterday.” Picking up a bishop she’d taken earlier she twirled it through her fingers as she watched the Advisor with a sardonic brow raised.

            Nodding with a small hum Balin returned his gaze to the final skirmish. Pursing his lips he moved a rook somewhere behind her own King. “Well then I don’t suppose you’d heard wind of where the Ur family had taken off to? I myself haven’t seen them since the small tiff we had at breakfast. It isn’t like Bombur to miss a meal,” Icy blue eyes, once again, trained on the suddenly tensed hobbit.

            Amber eyes trailed away from the stolid gaze and pearly white teeth came out to chomp on a pink lip. A swift hand came out to move a pawn in front of the recently moved rook and a sharp, “No,” was muttered into the tense air.

            “Hm,” Balin nodded as he continued to watch the little lass and reached out to the board, “It would also appear the Ri’s have been lost to the city. The elder two turning over elves and stone trying to find their youngest. My apprentice took off after the Urs this morning and hasn’t made an appearance either. I don’t suppose you…?”

            Bilbo shot a narrow eyed look at the elder and stated sharply, “No. Nor anyone else of the dwarven pursuation for that matter.” Her piece emphasized her malcontent.

            Balin nodded and sighed as he made to stand once more. He smiled softly at the prickly little hobbit as he made his final move, “Shame, they were all very worried about our tiniest member. Insisted on finding you in this elf labrynth, concerned with the safety of our Company members as they were. Well, thank you for the exercise and enjoy the rest of your day lass. I’ll tell the others you’re well looked after.” And as quickly as he’d come he was gone, leaving Bilbo to stare quietly at her King.

            A huffed chuckle left her as she shook her head and flicked her King over before rolling her eyes and jumping down from her chair. It would seem she had some misplaced dwarrow to find.

***

            “Like herding cats. Large, ungraceful, bandy legged currs, the lot of em.” Of course, as everything else concerning her fellows, finding them was easier said than done. She’d been here there and everywhere for the past three hours, night had just about fallen at this point and she was going to be late for supper if she didn’t find these hairy fools soon. They’d raged a warpath through the city, for sure. Knocked over frippery and crockery, and in one case a statue of a very beloved poet that had Lindir crying at the rubble and dusted foot of the pedestal. But they themselves were proving harder to spot than a pair of Took faunts hiding from their bathtimes.

            Bilbo had taken to the roofs once more, hoping the vantage would give her a leg up on her fellows. Sadly she forgot in her hurry to find and feed that anything that could go wrong shall when in the presense of a Durin.

            “Master Boggins!”

            Bilbo sighed rather dramatically at the nickname, “Did we _not_ have a conversation about this?! AH!” the reckless duo had flung themselves onto the roof and ran her right over in their exuberance. Now she found herself clutched between two very larger overgrown cockerspaniels and wasn’t sure what to do about it.

            “Oy! Careful there lads! She’s no’ as sturdy as a dwarf!” Bombur announced from his perch on the solid ground watching their wee bit of Trouble being jostled back and forth between the twin Menace. Bofur let his own relieved sigh loose as he caught sight of their tiny ward and made to climb up so he could have a look over her, followed by a grumbling Bifur, _“Of course she’s on the roof.”_

            And, of course, dwarrow being the dignified and nimble creatures they were, once Bilbo managed to wrench herself away from the deadly duo, pandemoneon erupted.

            She watched as the first graceless sod flailed his arms about only to knock his equally as disgraceful brother in the face and the pair grabbed each other on the way down. They rolled and knocked into Bifur, who fell into Bofur that then crashed through Bombur as they went causing an avalanche of dwarrow to slide down three levels of the open city. They only came to a stop when the gravity of one Thorin Oakenshield got in the way.

            Bilbo raced down the walls and balconies, stopping only when she found her dwarrow moaning in a heap at the foot of a coy pond. She was about to pop down and asure their continued continuity when she heard her name, “Bilbo!” and was held flush and fast against an inodinate amount of knitwear. Ori was a fine lad though and knew when a hug had outlived itself so he released her fair quickly as he stared at the mess below, “What did you do now?”

            “Oy! How’s it always my fault?!”

            “When isn’t it your fault?”

            “When it’s Figwits.”

            “Figw–”

            They were cut off abruptly by a roaring battle cry as their magnanimous leader straightened from where he’s apparently fell into the coy pond when his men had barrel rolled into him. As he made to alight from the pond, however, he slipped on a slime-covered rock and splashed right back into the mirk. When he came up for air again, Bilbo, being her mother’s daughter with the self preservation of a Took asked cheekily from her vantage amber eyes smiling down from the terrace above, “What say you about a handkerchief now oh fearless leader?” in the next second she was gone. Which was probably Mahal blessed because Thorin wasn’t sure he’d survive the Elf and Gandalf’s wrath when he beat the life from the cheeky bitch. But he’d have done it regardless, and he’d have enjoyed every minute of it.

            Ori was trying to contain his laughter as Bilbo turned a smile to him only to freeze in sharing her mirth as Nori came up behind him. With a tight-lipped smile she nodded to the pair and jumped down to help her dwarrow, dancing away from their enraged leader and hiding behind the addled and bruised Bifur.

            Nori watched as the piece pranced about just out of reach of the growling Durin King until he felt a harsh fist collide with his head. Now what everyone knew about the Ri family could fit into the waistcoat pocket of a particularly dapper cricket[18], but what was given was that Dori was the strong one, Nori was the conniving one, and Ori was the quiet one. What wasn’t common knowldge was that Ori was quiet, certainly, but he was also the one with a temper that could crash down walls and a strength that made it feesible. When he wasa bairn he’d damn near defened his two elders brother’s with his woes and grievances, and they dare not approach to comfort until they’d found the sourc of his upset in fear of more broken fingers. So upon being gut checked by his younger sibling Nori fell to the ground with a wheezing yelp and stayed there as the very angry yarn clad ball of stone muscle glared at him, “What did you do?”

            Nori blinked a minute and tried to remember what having air in his lungs felt like before Ori sighed and grabbed him by the nape of his neck and dragged him back to his feet. Once there he dusted his brother off and pouted up at him, arms crossed, “I don’t know what you did and I really don’t care but if your nonsense makes her run away again I’ll not forgive you Nori! She’s my best friend and I just got her back, do you understand me!?”

            Without waiting for a reply the scribe waltzed off to the staircase that led down to the next level where he grabbed his little friend by the arm when she raced by him trying to avoid the roaring Dwalin where the guard had taken to chasing her about the small brook with his war hammer after she’d thrown a particularly slimy lillypad at his bald head claiming it was a fare sight better than his present predicament. Burglar in hand he made his way to the dining room and situated her right by his side and was happy to see the Urs follow and ensconce the two youngsters in their midst even as Dori glared from a seat down and Nori continued to breath shallowly through the meal.

 

** Day Eight ** ** : Avoiding Collateral Damage **

 

            Seeing as she was obviously a flight risk her dwarrow had declared her unfit to be out of their sight and moved into her rooms. Even if she’d wanted to fight the proclamation her door still hadn’t been fixed and Ori made short work of the rest of the thing, wrenching it off its dented hinges before bidding them goodnight and returning to Dori for his scolding and bed. The Urs slept piled in her bed, keeping their Trouble ensconced in a cone of highly twitchy menace.

            Bilbo couldn’t even argue as the next day proved how fullproof the plan was when the four marched into breakfast together and she was kept firmly by Bofur and Bifur’s sides the entire morning. It’s where she found herself as the day gave way to afternoon and she was leaning against the tree watching with Bifur as Dwalin took the younglings through their motions. Apparently after the attack Dori had been talked into allowing his precious brother to train with the young princes, something Ori seemed to excel for the moment, where the Durin lads seemed in a rush, impatient, no doubt, to move onto the sparring. Little Ori, on the other hand, took it all very seriously, exerted a certain grace in his actions as he moved with the war hammer Dwalin had lent the lad after deciding it only fitting he be better equipped after the orcs. Really, a long-range weapon was fine and dandy but there came a time you wanted something pointy and sharp holding off the bastards biting at your ankles. Though Dwalin wasn’t that impressed with the wee slingshot either, he hadn’t moved to take it off the lad. Bilbo would have to expand on the versatility of the leather strap later, mayhap. She was actually rather surprised Nori hadn’t already done so.

            Bilbo wasn’t trying to linger on the thief but it was hard when she was forced into such proximity. The red head was paces away from his brother, watching in his negligent way. Mahal forbid he appeared to be _hovering_. That was Dori’s failing after all. The silver haired dwarrow was standing right at the edge of the tacit training ground, scowling at the guard as he paced the lads, correcting their stances and reaches every now and again. Bilbo was actually rather curious what would happen when the bald bastard started in on the _real_ training.

            “I’ve five copper says he’d toss the lad fifty yards across the field,” Bofur said softly as he continued to whittle away at whatever odd thing he’d decided to fashion this day.

            Bifur snorted and grumbled something as he signed; _Ten says it’ll be over the balustrade._

Bilbo smirked, “Fifteen, across the yard and through that wall,” turning a page in the tomb she’d ‘borrowed’ from Lindir’s personal library. And by personal library she may mean personal writings. And by personal writings she may mean diary. Really, he should know better than to keep such things under his bed of all places. It was the first place a thief would look. She’d know, she’d done so.

            Bombur just rolled his eyes at their wager as he continued to munch on some trail mix the elves had made at Bilbo’s behest. Every so often he’d ask her to clarify a flavor he was sensing, otherwise he was content to relax back in the midmorning sun.

            With a final growl for Fíli to keep his “bleedin’ guard up, everythin’ out in these Wild’s like ta be _taller_ than ye lad!” the quartet began to pair off. With barely a disparaging glance the guard barked out, “Kíli! With me. Ori, Fíli, work through the motions. An’ easy on him, lad!”

            “Is it too late ta change me bet?”

            _Aye, seems the Prince will be going through a wall_

“I thought you said he’d go flying over the ledge?”

            _Dori wouldn’t kill a youngling_

“Aye, but Dwalin’s free game.”

            “Ah.”

            And it seemed to all be going forward in the predictable fashion. Kíli was being given the ‘tough love’ approach to training, and Fíli was slowly wiping the floor with little Ori. It wasn’t that the lad didn’t pack a punch. He was near as strong as his elder brother; given time he may even surpass him. He also had an amazing grasp of the concepts and theory that went into battle and footwork. Just none of that meant a hill of beans to a seasoned warrior, and for all his youth, Fíli was just that. The golden lad tried to take it easy on his partner but when said partner couldn’t manage to keep a grip on his hammer after a soft tap from his double blades there was really only one possible outcome. Ori was technically correct, defending with a classic high guard. But Fíli was being a bit more practical in his motions and aim, foresight and experience making him far more fluid and less structured, nothing Ori was prepared to fend off. As Ori was dealt another love tap with the flat of a blade, Dori’s face was turning into something fierce and concerning. Bilbo was relatively sure that color red wasn’t found in nature. Even Nori wasn’t handling his little brother’s manhandling with the grace he would usually prefer to be associated with, his hands twirling the bit of lace over and over into something like a hangman’s noose.

            “Right lad, that’s enough. Kíli go ta yer brother, Ori here,” Dwalin was certainly better. He was a teacher, after all. While he got past the lad’s guard he also walked him through the mistakes and openings, showing him where they could be found in his own stance. Far better than crying at him as Fíli had about, “Oy! Watch my hands! Not my feet! I’ll not attack with my big toe, I promise!”

            But as much as the instruction was certainly aiding the lad, he seemed to have something of a block to the learning. He was finding the opening, but when it interfered with the practiced stance he hesitated and was thus knocked about some more. After the third time he tripped over his own feet Dwalin leaned back on his heels, hand on his brow, Grasper over his shoulder as he grumbled under his breath.

            Seeing the trodden look on the lad Bilbo couldn’t take it anymore and popped to her own feet, “Come here Ori!”

            “What’re ye up to now lass?” Dwalin growled as she approached, untying the bright green belt she’d chosen for todays ensemble. It was a spot of color to offset the shimmery grey of her tunic and white leggings.

            Ignoring the guard for the moment she bent to the still seated lad and began to wrap one end of the belt around his left wrist. Seeing the bemused look her young friend was giving her she smiled warmly and gripped the hand, “You haven’t the _feel_ for the motions yet. Not a bad thing at all, not everyone is bred to it. Besides, once you’ve developed it you’ll wipe the floors with those two trolls the way you’ve mastered the stance and theory.” She winked as the Durin lads yelped their indignation, causing Ori to smile a bit in thanks and finally rise to his own feet again.

            Turning back to Dwalin Bilbo demanded, “Hand!”

            Raising a brow, the guard complied and watched as she swathed them together. Turning back to Ori she saw clear trepidation, and she supposed she could sympathize. She’d have to take a moment or two to get use to the idea of being attached bodily to a beast such as the guard represented.

            “Here!” she announced as she pulled the length and watched Ori stumble a moment before righting himself.

            His continued confusion almost instantly washed away, “Oh wow! That’s brilliant!” because Ori was a _smart_ lad and didn’t need things spelled out for him.

            “The Forge are ye talkin’ about!?” Dwalin growled, because he wasn’t satisfied with anything he couldn’t punch into submission.

            Bilbo rolled her eyes, “You can’t dance if you haven’t got an understanding of the rhythm. As you attack he’ll be able to feel your advance and retreat in the rope. The knot I’ve tied on him will slacken when you get close, tighten and pull should you move too far off. He’s a wee thing, and we’ve a certain style of fighting all our own. It normally involves getting a bit closer than most are comfortable with,” here she grimaced as she thought over some rather rank bodies she’d had to brush across in her time, “but it’s to our advantage as much as our disadvantage.” Turning back to Ori she clarified, “Your task is to stay in the rope’s slack range. If it gets too tight you’re no longer in your strike zone. If it gets too loose, well, you’ll be in his lap.”

            It’s a good thing the older Ri’s were glaring at Bilbo because if they’d seen the pink tint the Guard had turned after that comment they may very well have killed them both. And Nori wouldn’t have even needed to go for a weapon, as it’d be simple as anything to wrap that pretty piece of silk around that thick neck and squeeze.

            Either way Bilbo saw and vowed to make it happen again as she pranced out of the way and watched the hilarity ensue.

            Ori was phenominal at taking instruction and spent the next hour staying exactly where Bilbo told him, in the slack. It wasn’t instantaneous but it took less than four stumbling steps before he was proficient, ten and he looked damn near born to it. He flitted in and out of Dwalin’s grasp time and again, using the motions and rythmes to augment the theory he excelled at. He danced and moved with the strength and grace of a warrior twice his age, as he was borrowing it from Dwalin.

            The Guard, on the other hand, spent the next hour sweating and trying to get the lad out of his personal space. Every time he moved back the scribe advanced, anytime he made a swipe at the lad he felt the tension in the silk and would dodge with no small amount of grace and agility. He’d rejoinder the attack with a parry of his own. Which was something considering he was using a bleedin’ warhammer. Finally, seeing he wasn’t getting anywhere by retreating, Dwalin surged forward in an attack. But what none of them had anticipated was just how quick Ori was as the lad smiled in a fashion that strongly resembled his older brother and, instead of retreating, twirled and advanced, turning the fight about and causing Dwalin to stumble in his charge.

            What Ori hadn’t taken into account was the weight disparity between the two and that the piece of silk was going to slingshot him up and on top of the bald guard. As the pair lay in a rather compromised position Bilbo fell to the ground laughing uproariously as Dori made her quite a bit of money by rending her belt and sending Dwalin through the very wall she’d pointed out and then cooing his slightly addled and redfaced brother.

            Her mirth, however, was cut short as an obnoxiously immortal blonde elf came out to the terrace above and announced, “Lunch _Dúath_. And as you’ve lost an unhealthy amount of weight for a hobbit I suggest you don’t miss anymore meals.” That blonde ponce pranced off before she could yowl at him as Bombur’s eyes widened and the cook stated cussing up a storm as he grabbed the lass’s wrist and raced her into the dining hall. Really, she was a fully-grown hobbit and could take care of herself!

            _Aye, which is why you’re on this mission with the likes of us, right Trouble?_

_Shut it Bifur!_

***

            After lunch the Company was once again trying to enjoy their respite and ignore anything taller than Dwalin lurking about the undergrowth. The King’s corner was laden with the usual suspects, Dwalin continuing his seemingly lax guard by the entrance into their haven, Thorin glaring at the grass, then the burglar, then Dwalin, then around again, and Balin was reading a tome he’d picked out of the trove their burglar had brought Ori that morning. Fíli and Kíli were attempting some nonsense with a rock and a stick but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere as the pair kept littering the air with frustrated sighs and yelps ever now and again. Dori and Óin were actually chatting about herbal remedies and infusions while Glóin napped rather loudly nearby. The brother’s Ri were once again missing their middle installment, but that was par for the course. As was the icy stare Dori would shoot the tiny nymph that had, in his mind, enthralled his younger brother. The lad had in no uncertain terms yelled at the elder that he was old enough to be friends with whoever the Forge he wanted. He was cheerily writing in his journal next to the minx where she’d taken up residence under the large shade tree the Urs had claimed. The Halfling was all smiles as she spoke with Bombur about what sounded like a recipe for roast venison while Bofur and Bifur were whittling something, every now and again exchanging words and showing each other their progress. It was anyone’s guess whether this was collaboration or idle chitchat.

            But as we’ve noticed over the past few days, there was truly no peace to be had in Rivendell when the hobbit was residence. That much was becoming rote. With all the finesse of an orc army the two elves from yester evening came barreling into the cove, near knocking Dwalin off his perch and into Thorin’s lap. Seeing their new _best friends_ , Kíli hailed them by finally nailing the stone they’d been fooling with the stick he’d been clutching. The thing went _sailing_ towards the tall lads at something of an alarming rate, but they weren’t known as orcbane for nothing. Elrohir swiftly found his own stick (attached to Dwalin’s warhammer no less) and thwacked the stone back to the Durin lads. Fíli gave a hearty chuckle as he slapped the thing over to Elladan who’d taken the short interim to pry a real stick for the game. And then the game was really on.

            “You’ve been practicing!” Elladan shouted gleefully as he sent the rock back to Kíli.

            Who in turn sent it sailing once more far over Elrohir’s head. Luckily Fíli was already underway and managed to keep the token in play. “Well met young prince!” Elrohir congratulated as he sent the thing back to his brother.

            “We won’t be as easily beat this time around,” Fíli’s grin was all teeth as the pellet went sailing to Kíli once more then to Elladan and back to himself.

            Suddenly the elf twins realized they were being herded between the two princes. They had underestimated the novice dwarrow, they hadn’t anticipated strategizing so soon in their tutelage. Elladan was grinning ruefully at the misstep as they maneuvered around the maneuver. Elrohir was smiling savagely, enjoying the challenge. There was something to be said for multiple foes, though neither dwarrow was half the challenge _Duáth_ presented.

            It was only when Kíli nearly slapped Ori in the head with his stick that Bilbo began to worry, “Maybe you boys should take that elsewhere,” rising to her feet she approached the rather wide berth the rest of the companions had allowed the four ruffians.

            “What’s the matter Bilbo!? Scared of a little challenge?” Fíli’s smile was all self-assurance as he gave the rock a particularly harsh slap and sent it zipping towards Elrohir. Thankfully it would take more than a little pep to take down the elf warrior and he sent it zooming back to his brother who sent it on to Kíli.

            Amber eyes narrowed as Bilbo paced the border of the game, stooping to pick up a branch herself for precaution, “I’m more concerned that you stone headed nimrods have replaced the ‘conker’ part of the game with something that could legitimately maim someone.”

            “Awe! You do care!” Kíli mocked as he sent the stone sailing, once again, over Elladan’s head. Only this time there was no Fíli to save it as it went soaring at an alarming speed towards the entrance of their alcove.

            “Elladan! Elrohir! Arwen says that you should introduce me to the dwarfeses!” Arwen followed as little Estel charged through the opening and right into the projectile’s path just as Bilbo dove into a roll. She came up with an upstroke to the missile and watched as the thing hit the ceiling of the arch, plunging down at her again. Turning the stick slightly slanted she let the angle take some of the momentum, extended her arm to catch the stone with the tip of her stick and sent it lazily back up again before twirling the thing and slapping it at twice the original pace straight into Fíli’s ridiculously large head. The stick went sailing in a twirling dervish into Elladan’s head and bounced to birch slap Elrohir’s face. Kíli looked properly terrified at having nearly brained the child of Man in the first place.

            Sighing, Bilbo turned away from the now bleeding and scraped idiot man-children (dwarf-children, elf-children, she really couldn’t be bothered with the distinction. All of them idiots) and saw the awed little cherub face staring back at her (Estel was ten and actually… yep he’d gotten taller since his last visit to the Shire, so now she was looking up at the lad). With a soft smile Bilbo reserved for _innocent_ children she grasped the lad’s hands, “Come on then, dear. I’ll introduce you to some of the _dwarrow_. I’ll show you the rest after they’ve finished with those idiots.” She steered the little sire towards relative safety as a thunderous Thorin and a livid Arwen advanced on their ridiculous kin

 

** Day Nine ** ** : Fee and Kee **

 

            “Look at them Fee,” Kíli requested lowly as he continued to care for his bow.

            With a swift glance away and back again to his own knives Fíli nodded, “Aye, they’re rather homey at that.”

            Across the courtyard the Company had basically seized for their joint purposes the lads could see the congregation of what could mostly be considered the misfits of their troupe. First there was the young Ori, seated neatly with a large tomb in his lap, apparently reading aloud to the small gathering under the awning tree. An odd little dwarrow, he was more interested in books and knitting than metalwork or warfare. Rather weak looking too, and scrawny compared to others in the same age group or younger. He was slightly out of sorts even within his own family unit, Dori being inordinately strong, and Nori being such a shady character. But even if the tiny scribe seemed to be lost for a place in the Company of rough and ready warriors he had claim to the bloodline of Durin. The Ri’s were not of noble lineage, too many babies bred to the wrong side of the sheets as they say, but still decedents who would remember Erebor’s Hay Day.

            The Ur’s on the other hand were the only family group with no solid ties to the ancient line. Broadbeams the lot of them, not that it seemed to make them any less loyal, no matter Bofur continued to insist he was along merely for the free ale. Bombur was a cook and Bofur a tinker/miner/toymaker, neither having a background in war or even old enough to have taken part in the last battle of Durin’s folk, Anulbizar. Bifur was, however. He was their cousin and family elder since the fated day had robbed all three of the lads of their parents. Nearly losing his own life with the rest. Instead he’d risen addled and injured to care for his orphaned cousins. The three sat listening to Ori’s recitation peaceably. Bombur munching at some bread he’d somehow nicked from the Elves, Bofur whittling away at some such nonsense leaning against the trunk of their shade, putting in his two coppers as they listened, and Bifur closing the circle, brushing and braiding their Hobbit Burglar’s curly tresses. And if the Halfling wasn’t the most curious of the bunch Fíli would eat the Arkenstone.

            Bilbo didn’t even have the excuse of being dwarrow to support her interest in their quest. Erebor meant nothing to the tiny memories of Hobbits. Even if it did, the race as a whole had little to do or any want of the kinds of riches that could be fashioned from the mountain. But here Bilbo sat in prime position, the wee lass that she was. Circled in the protection of the other four. She was only ever slightly scolded by Bifur when she would reach from her perch in his lap to murmur something or other to Ori. At which point she’d be led back into place and continue to chat idly with Bofur and Bombur as their cousin continued to tame her curls.

            It was an odd sight to begin with, what with the inherent familiarity that it displayed. The Urs were a family unit, Bilbo had no place in their midst, especially one of such choice or comfort. Instead she sat ensconced in them, her inclusion even seeming to extend invitation to the youngest Ri as it were. This was also not a status that had been made plain on their journey thus far, but seemed to have solidified here in the peace of Rivendell.

            Furthering the young Princes’ curiosity was the grooming. Among dwarrow that was a large indicator of standing. Only family members or intendeds ever braided another’s hair. Bifur’s care was one of curious paternal familiarity for a friendship supposedly so young in the making. It could be passed off as a symptom of an addled mind and a hobbit’s ignorance. She did share a coloring with the elder Broadbeams and her size was such Kíli still wasn’t assured of her maturity, though there were certain groves near her eyes and lining her mouth that spoke to the truth of it. But then Bifur’s cousins would surely have diffused the situation. Instead Bombur and Bofur both seemed to take this caring as a given, and even high-strung Ori appeared content with the unnatural familial display. And with just a glance at Bilbo, it was obvious the lass was possibly the most relaxed she’d been in this one moment than she’d been for the entirety of the quest.

            Kíli’s dark eyes stirred as his thoughts chased themselves around, mouth turned down in contemplation as he finished with his bow and moved on to tend his quiver, “Almost think they’d known each other half their lives.” He’d have to see if he could nick some fletch from the Elves to replenish his wares.

            Fíli’s bright blues were less troubled, but his mind no less engaged, as he set aside one knife and picked up a second for attention, “Odd for such an insular race as our hobbit comes from. Hardly likely. But then you should take a glance at our resident thief.”

            Shifting a bit, raising one of his arrows to his eye to assure himself of the shafts integrity, the younger Durin allowed his gaze to linger over said tri-domed dwarf before returning to the rest of his sheaf. His nod was barely perceptible as he went about cleaning and sharpening a separate arrowhead, amusement coloring his voice as he observed, “It would appear someone put cream in his beer.”

            Nori was known for being a hard read most of the time. The Middle Ri seemed to have a default of vague disinterest, when pressed he would pull entertained bemusement. It was rare to catch anything that wasn’t seemingly crafted on his continence (save in the case of being spitted by a trio of trolls (and he’d dare anyone to maintain a façade of anything beyond intense discomfit tempered in horror)). But there was a distinct edge to that default as he sat behind a bench in the archway that let out into the courtyard. The disinterest was brittle, fraying at the edges of his mouth as it sagged down in a barely there frown, and the brow where it creased over his nose. Even the braided hair there couldn’t contain the displeasure that seeped into the slack continence as the lad sat twisting his hands around a length of twine, seemingly fumbling with the knots and play he was so proficient with. And if one took the time to watch just a little longer and a little closer, they would see a yellow tint to the brown in the shifty eyed thief whenever they trailed to the picturesque scene a stone’s throw away.

            With a small snort the blonde Durin glanced up at his brother, catching the brown gaze a moment before the pair nodded, “A bit much for ‘professional curiosity’, wouldn’t you say?”

            Kíli’s grin was all shit eating as he nodded his agreement, “Looks more like a jilted lover if you ask me.”

            A considering head bob from the heir before he continued in a light tone, “Nothing to alarm Uncle though, I wouldn’t imagine.”

            The younger took a moment before nodding his consent, “No, he’s far too busy being angry at the Elves right now anyway. Not that we shouldn’t keep our ears to the ground though.”

            Another shared nod and the pair packed up their tack and implements. Fíli slid his arsenal into their hidden sheaths and Kíli repacked his quiver, before they decided to see just how many dwarrow surrounding the tiny Burglar it would take before Nori broke from character. They counted it a conservative success. On the one hand, when Kíli swept in to ruffle the hobbit’s hair, there was the distinct sound of lace rending. On the other, Bifur did spend quite a time chasing the lad about the enclosure with his spear, swearing at the fool and his accursed intrusion in what had previously been an amazingly arduous task of taming that devil’s trap of a mane. Eventually, however, Bofur and Bilbo took pity on the lad when he ended up trapped in their tree and drew Bifur away to look at some garden or other as Bombur and Ori helped the boob down from his perch. Fíli was absolutely useless where he lay clutching his stomach trying to breath through the tears of mirth.

 

** Day Ten ** ** : Hairspray **

 

            It was about the 58th attempt at taming the Hobbit’s hair that finally made Dori snap, “Alright! Give her here! You’re doing it all wrong, in any event. The lass has curly, fine hair which requires a bit more finesse than the thick, course hair you’re used to!”

            Bifur growled lowly in his throat as he stared at the silver haired elder and then turned back to the lass in his lap. Truthfully, he may be head of the Ur family but he’d never had the damn patience for the braiding nonsense, even before his senses had gotten scrambled, as could be shown in the care and obvious intricacies taken in developing his baby cousins’ styles. Honestly, he only really had it in him to do one, two large braids tops before his mind went into an alarm state and his eyes began to stream so with little more than a grunt he got up and handed the wee bit o’ Trouble over to the significantly better groomed merchant.

            “Oy! Don’t I get a say in this?!” Bilbo wasn’t too sure how she felt about being in such close proximity to Dori’s crushers… strike that, she knew _exactly_ how she felt about it and it wasn’t zen like in the slightest.

            “Oh hush, it will hardly take a tic, even less so long as you don’t squirm about ridiculously,” the silver dwarrow grumbled a bit as he sat down with the lass in his lap and took up the brush the Ur was using previous. He began taking the bristles through the frizzed bush and sniffed as he turned a polite smile to Bifur, “If you would, some water would do well in taming this mess, please.” With a nod the lad left and was back again with a bowl of water from who the hell knew where and wayching the Master Merchant at his work.

            Something else people didn’t necessarily realize about the family Ri. Yes everyone knew Dori was an overbearing, overprotective, pain in the arse with a stick up said orifice. But what most people didn’t think about was how even that didn’t keep his brother’s from returning his affections tenfold. Ori was coddled to within inches of screaming but he still looked to his elder for approval and love. Nori was a repeated disappointment and a damned curr, but he still returned to Dori, taking abuse and giving it as good he got. Some would say this had to do with family loyalty, but that wouldn’t explain Nori now would it? No, it was in moments like this that Dori’s true loving nature was highlighted as he cradled the hobbit in his lap and carefully treaded water into knots and released them from their snarls, all the while quietly humming a lullaby he’d sing to the lads when they were little as he’d subconsciously picked up on the tenseness in the wee thing’s posture. As she relaxed bit by bit he began asking her questions.

            “How has your head been feeling lass?”

            Bilbo’s eyes were drooping as she nodded, “Fine, Master Dori, thank you for asking.”

            “Hmm, it seems they’ve done rather well healing it up. Has Óin taken a look recently?”

            “Not today, but he looked me over last night.”

            “Well, we’ll make sure he checks before luncheon. Warg! What horrible creatures. You did very well against them by the way.”

            “Thank you Master Dori.”

            “No need for the formalities dear. I’m braiding your hair after all. I think we’re beyond that. Ori tells me you like tea?”

            “Actually, there was this lavender tea my mother used to drink I loved as a child. It’s been ages since I’ve had it.”

            “Hmm, we’ll see if they’ve anything of the sort here abouts. As it were I’m a tea merchant.”

            “I’m sure you’re brilliant at it.”

            “How so dear?”

            “Well, it takes a delicate hand to make a great brew and obviously…”

            The pair continued talking lowly as the hobbit half napped in the elder Ri’s lap and the Urs watched on, smiling at their Trouble’s clear contentment. The younger Ri’s however, not so much.

            Nori wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He was a mishmash of turbid emotion and the only thing that he seemed to be able to settle on for sure was that he was mad as a poked boar. But if he was being honest with himself (which he was pointedly not doing) he’d have to admit he wasn’t sure who he was most mad at to begin with.

            Suddenly Ori settled up next to his older brother, pointedly ignoring how the elder flinched and moved his arm to protect his midsection as he began to speak while the pair continued to watch the tiny hobbit and their brother, “You know what? I had a crush on our little Nightshade friend all that time ago.”

            Nori snorted at that. He wasn’t surprised by the admission; he’d wrestled with the guilt of it at the time but decided that the lass’d eat his poor brother alive. Ori was strong but he was a romantic, ~~his minx~~ the hobbit was too much a part of his darker world to every be part of Ori’s. But he wasn’t a fool and was still a bit bruised from the whallop from before and so stayed silent as the lad leveled a droll stare at him.

            Sighing gustily, Ori continued, “I was devastated when she left for good. She didn’t even say goodbye. It took me a long time to forgive her for that…” he watched as his brother finally seemed to put the hobbit to sleep. Even so she slept upright and seemed to be rather malleable as the elder dwarrow started the process of plaiting her black curls into manageable braids. He frowned a bit as he watched Bifur coach Dori through the Ur’s family braid. It seems they weren’t the only people who’d been set adrift when their hobbit had abandoned the Mountains for her Hills, “I can’t imagine how it made you feel.”

            “Don’ know what you’re talking about Ori,” the nonchalance was almost believable, save Ori knew his brother and even if he didn’t the lace he was twisting and turning was fraying from the abuse in the suddenly taut and definitely angry hands.

            Sighing again the scribe got up and leveled his brother with a look that he was pretty sure Dori had a patent on and, really, a scribe should know better than to steal another dwarf’s work, “Well, all I’m sayin’ is she’s back. An’ you can accept it an’ be happy, or continue to mope about as you’ve been and watch as she gets swept away by someone else. She’s already got herself a dwarf family claimin’ her. How long before someone decides ta take it a step further? You thought it was hard when she was dead, wait till she’s someone elses.”

            Nori shot a sharp look at his brother at the last and saw a pained echo in his jasper eyes as he looked at his brother, “Ori, I–”

            The lad sniffed and shook his head, “It’s all right. Not like she wanted anything but friendship from me anyway. And I like being her friend. A lot. Besides she always had eyes for you, and only you.” He shrugged as he turned a quick look at Dori again before nodding, “She lived alone all this time too, so, who’s to say that’s changed any?” Nodding he pranced off to help his brother wake his friend and lavish attention on her new hairdo.

            Nori watched him go a second before turning about and bashing his head into an archway and anyone who wanted to know why could go shove straight off to Mordor for all he cared.

 

** Day Eleven ** ** : Everybody’s Got One  **

 

            It seemed the Halfling was becoming very popular indeed with the company. Dwalin sat in his little corner of the alcove once again, watching all that came, went, and moved. He glared a couple of elves down as they trailed through to get to the next hall over as he continued to care for Grasper. Turning back to his troop he saw even Balin seemed to have warmed back up to the lass as he was currently sitting on a bench with her working through another round of chess. He never liked that game. It was so cold. It didn’t give you a feel for the lives lost or of the stakes in a real battle or war. All it did was reduce lives to inanimate pieces of wood or stone. It had taken him a long while to become proficient at the game. He’d always tried to protect his pieces, even the pawns, arguing they were his men and they deserved better than to be thrown away. His father never understood his problem with the game, Balin understood but thought he could get over the block with practice. Thorin was the same shitty chess player he was.

            “You’ve become her defender,” he was also subtle as a brick to the face when he wanted to be. Like now, when he tramped his blighted arse over to thunder at his favored cousin.

            “Look around Thorin. She’s got half the damned company eatin’ out her hand and Glóin ain’t far behind. Even Balin’s back on board with the cuss,” Dwalin didn’t need to look up to hear and thus know the pouty glare on his cousin’s face. It’s the same constipated thing he’d been wearing since he was in short pants.

            “They are not my Guard, my right hand.”

            That did warrant a looksee. Turning his bushy brow up he saw the concern that hid behind the scowl. It was there in the crinkles at the bridge of his nose. He only knew it because he’d broken that nose a time or two before and enjoyed thinking about when he’d break it again while the royal arse laughed at his pains when he was training the lads, “She’s earned it.”

            The exasperation was there for everyone to see as their king shot the lass a long look across the glen and turned back to Dwalin, “You find nothing odd about her?”

            He snorted at that, “Everythin’s _odd_ about the lass. I’m jus’ glad she’s on our side.” He went back to tending his weapon.

            “Are you sure she’s on our side?”

            “Sure as I’m on yurs,” when did that divot get there? Damn those warg and their damn dirty thick teeth.

            “Hmm.”

            He paused his perusal over the divot, frozen on the cusp of outrage, “You doubt _me_ now?” the growl was a warning.

            For all the good it did, as Thorin didn’t even hear it with is preoccupation. Either way he saved his pretty face from another break in the next second, “Never. But there _is_ something about that Hobbit.”

            Nodding he went back to the divort, “Nothin’ tha’ won’t come out in time. Till then I’ll take her blades at my back any day. Not ta mention the way she’s set this place on its ear all her own. We couldn’ ‘ave done half as well if we’d tried.” The smile on his face could hardly be called charming. Barely even a smile. More a great barring of teeth.

            “… She does have an uncanny ability to be unreasonably annoying,” Thorin’s voice rumbled a bit as his lips quirked, no doubt remembering the devastation on the Elf steward’s face when his robes had magically turned pink a few days ago.

            “Aye, an’ she’ll offer ye a hand up seconds after trippin’ ye herself. Nothin’ of malice seems ta be in her,” Dwalin’s eyes were trained on the lass in question now as she laughed at something Balin had said as she took his last bishop. He remembered correct that was his brother’s favored piece.

            “Not yet.”

            “Can ye damn someone for somethin’ they’ve yet ta do? What if she never does anythin’?” this of course hit closer to home than anything else the bald dwarrow had said before.

            With a sigh the King nodded, “If she makes off with the lads I’m sending Dís after _your_ head,” and with that he walked off to be with his own pair of misfits.

            Dwalin’s snort followed him, “Anythin’ happens to them lads I’ll be the first dwarf diving onta me own axeblade.”

 

** Day Twelve ** ** : Oh Thorin, You Flatterer **

 

            There were times Bilbo wondered why she ever left the Valley. When the sun was setting and her stomach was all but gorged on the decadent dinner the Elves put together and she was enjoying a fine pipe as she watched the colors and smelled the scents around her. When there was just a lazy buzz of small groups plucking strings and tunes as they rendered one final song before turning in for the night or pursueing more appropriate late night activities. It would be so easy to stay here and just while away her days in peace and contentment…

            A large thunk on the stone bench beside her had her raising an arched black brow as her questing mind supplied one more reason she should really contemplate staying in Imladris. Turning a side-glance to her new compatriot she was almost surprised to see Thorin tapping his own pipe and filling it with some of his own weed. Almost. She’d have actually been surprised if the ever-subtle dwarf King hadn’t spend the majority of the day watching her balefully like a winter starved wolf.

            Turning to the imp he’d chosen to finally approach Thorin damn near fell off the bench when he saw the wide-eyed stare trained on him. Narrowing his gaze, he dug up whatever etiquette Balin had managed to strum into his brains and grumbled, “May I join you?”

            “By all means,” Gramma Baggins’d be proud.

            They sat in silence, puffing away at their chosen grasses for a few moments, ignoring each other for the view and peace. The moments spread like the smoke on the wind, turning into a few minutes and a few more. The Sun was making a valiant last stand when the silence was broken between the two.

            “You’ve convinced my most loyal subjects that you are to be trusted and protected. Even against myself,” Thorin projected as he puffed at his pipe, the night breeze coming a bit early as its cool tendrils blew back his longer tresses.

            She nodded as she digested that and puffed a bit from her own, blowing a decent sized circle before offering, “I haven’t convinced you.”

            “No,” the answer was instant, though it wasn’t a question.

            She smirked at the King beside her as she looked down and allowed her braids to tumble over her shoulder and shield her face, “Good.”

            Thorin raised a brow at that and turned to see that ridiculous dent in her cheek was back as she smiled at him, “Don’t trust me. You shouldn’t. I’m not trustworthy and I haven’t done anything for you to trust. But can we agree on one thing?”

            He nodded for her to continue and puffed at his pipe again. She got up from her seat and stretched as she twirled to face her leader, “I can’t make you believe me when I say I am a Baggins and my word is my bond. You know nothing of hobbits to make that mean anything to you. But if I can believe that you’re a King worth following can you believe that I’ll not purposely lead you astray? That I’ll keep to your quest and fulfill my portion as I’ve been contracted?”

            “Why would you believe I am worthy of following? You have seen my men, all twelve. They are not an army. You know we live in near poverty in our colony; I have no riches to my name. What do you know of me and my reign to risk your life for it?” And there’s the crux of the matter. It wasn’t just that Thorin didn’t believe she would willfully follow them into a dragon’s maw for nothing, he didn’t believe she would do it for _him_. And in his more honest moments he couldn’t believe anyone would.

            Bilbo took a breath and looked to the ground at her feet a moment before nodding and began, “You have _thirteen_ at your back, not an army, but thirteen who answered your call and would personally die for you.” She ignored the disbelief on his face at her personal inclusion. Whether he believed it or not wasn’t her problem, she would die if it became a necessity, for Thorin or any of the others. She knew her place in this world and one Hobbit did not amount to a King, displaced or no. Besides she’d never be able to live if she had to see Fíli and Kíli’s faces after their Uncle had been felled. It’d be too much for her soft heart to stand.

            So ignoring his disbelief she continued, “Never mind the caliber of the dwarrow you command. They are beyond reproach. Even if you only had Dwalin at your back I’d have followed because to command one such as he you must be a _Dwarf_ worth following.” Her emphasis was met with a slightly uncomfortable shifting of hard shoulders. She imagined Thorin was very used to wearing his mantle of King and leader but not normally addressed in such a fashion, even by his kin. She couldn’t imagine the strain, and it baffled and appalled her if she thought too much on it. Better left to those foolish enough to be caught up in their bloodlines.

            “When you speak of your colony, though it is seldom, you do not speak of _their_ poverty. You speak of _your_ poverty. It is not something you’ve removed yourself from; it is real to you. You live as your subjects; you feel their pain and their sorrows, their hunger and illness. It’s in how you watch and protect those in the Company and how you speak of those you’ve left behind. That makes you a _King_ worth following.” She pauses to let that sink in as she stares him dead in the eye before finishing her piece, “And when we were attacked, you refused to leave the field before anyone else, even the hobbit that you have disliked since sighting her. That makes you worth following into Mordor, to say nothing of a dragon’s horde.”

            Thorin stared into the Halflings face, seeing the conviction that hardened her eyes into amber as she stared at him and pledged herself to a dwarf he barely recognized. Standing, staring down at those overlarge portals as they followed his up he stated plainly as was his wont, “I am not felled by pretty words or sentiment, Halfling.” He watched as her face fell into droll irritation and smirked a bit into his beard as he continued, hand come up to brace her shoulder causing her eyes to widen once more, “But if even part of what you proclaim is your true feeling, I am glad you continue with us.”

            He was almost out of hearing when he heard the obnoxious cuss call out to him in her bell like voice, “Wow! Did that smile hurt your face? You may need to check with Óin!” Thorin didn’t bother turning around, knowing already the aggravant wouldn’t be there when he did. She was a damned nuisance but, sadly, he’d come to realize she was no fool.

 

** Day Thirteen ** ** : Finally! We Can GTFO **

 

            Hidden in the Valley that housed the Last Homely House was a white stone precipice high in the cliff walls that defended Imladris from her enemis. It was awash with moonlight and chilly mist from the waterfall that cascaded not feet away from it. The only adornment, a block of uncut crystal that sat at the edge and glowed under the moonlight, seemingly taking in the light for itself only to send it back into the night as though trying to outdo the source of its luminescence. It was here the two dwarrow, an Elf, and a wizard convened after what would soon be their last supper together for a very long time.

            “You just can’t help but show off can you?” This is also where an irritatingly irreverent pain in the ass Hobbit was led as, apparently, her presense was insisted upon once more by the wizard, even though the proceedings were none of her damn business and she’d very much prefer to be with her companions getting what little sleep she was sure their stalwart leader was going to allow.

            Elrond sent the tiny menace a dry glance as he stepped towards the crystal table while Balin came up behind the lass and patted her on the shoulder as he followed his King who’d stormed past her following the Elf who’d taken possession of his heirloom once more. Bilbo huffed a sigh as she watched the taller folk circle the thing and leaned against the cavern wall they’d just come from. She was much too small to see up that thing and wasn’t in the playful mood necessary to scale one of her taller associates. She was going to miss the Lonely House, and really hoped this wouldn’t be the last time she’d be seeing it.

            Suddenly the moonlight illuminated the map and the crystal below seemed to shed more of its borrowed luminescence as a pilar of soft white light rose from where the map lay. Elrond watched carefully as red runes appeared on the parchment and read for the gathering, “‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.’”

            “Well I’ll be, Fíli was right, there _is_ a door,” Bilbo drawled from her placement watching the dwarrow as they scuffled about.

            “We still have time to find the entrance. We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened,” Balin announced as he narrowed his eyes and seemed to be doing some fast calculating in his head.

            Concern marred the ethereal face as Elrond spoke, “So this is your purpose, to enter the Lonely Mountain,” his grey gaze falling on the little fathers and glancing at the Halfling in their midst.

            “What of it,” Thorin rumbled as he grabbed his map back and leveled a hard gaze at their host.

            The Lord’s lips tightened as he inclined his head, “There are some who would not deem it wise.” Before any could comment a horn blew in the distance, causing Elrond to turn towards the view they were given of the bridges that allowed entry into his lands. Gandalf seemed to pale in the moonlight as he grasped the meaning of that horn even before the Elf continued, “And it would seem they have begun to arrive.”

            Turning back to the fearsome scowls being leveled at him from his tiny guests and the worry in his smallest friends amber gaze he closed his eyes a moment in regret and nodded back the way they came. “Go, you will find my steward is waiting to escort you from the Valley. Though, I fear Gandalf shall have to remain a day or two longer.”

            The wizard let out a huff and nodded, “Yes, I do believe you’re right Lord Elrond. I will join you as soon as I can. Wait for me at the foot of the Misty Mountains. Whatever you do, do not go through them before I have arrived.”

            “We are dwarves, we are more than capable of navigating a mountain range on our own,” the King of the Nitwits announced, blustering at the thought he’d need assistance in the lands of his people. Wasn’t Moria, a dwarven kingdom in its own right, housed in the Mountains? If anything they should wait so as to aid the Wizard in the jaunt through the Mountains, not the other way round.

            With the sigh of the long-suffering Gandalf leveled a glare at the tiny King and reiterated as he stormed off, “Wait for me at the pass!”

            Bilbo bounced out of the Grey One’s way as she shook her head wondering when he’d figure out that tone never went heeded by the King of the Stone Heads. She made to follow after but was stopped in the next moment, “If you will, I would borrow your burglar a moment.” Turning back she saw Elrond had turned to gaze off the cliff as he made this request. Turning to Balin and Thorin she saw concern and irritation respectively. Nodding to the elder she moved back to the Lord’s side.

            “We won’t wait forever Halfling,” never could let it lie. Always had to have the last word. That’s okay; she’d put rocks in his sleepingroll. See how he enjoyed the feel of his Father’s work tonight on the road.

            “ _Tinnúviel_ , you are following a path that worries me. I would ask you again, do not go. Stay here, return to you Green Hills, think of your own safety for once,” he sounded so tired it had tears stinging her eyes as she looked out on the moon bleached lands beside him.

            In that moment she wished she could tell him yes, that she’d steal away her contract and rip it to shreds. That she’d stay here where she was safe and loved and live the rest of her short life merry and plump, running Lindir ragged, teaching his sons tricks he’d rather she didn’t, bantering with Glorfindel and learning Quenya from Erestor. Safeguarded and loved with her Elf family. But then she thought of what Gandalf said and she could only look up at the father sadly, “You’re a healer, you know what happens when infection is left to fester.”

            “You are not, it is not your place to rid the world of its wounds,” he turned his own eyes away from his Lands and trained them on the tiny figure beside him. “You are neither healer nor shepard of this plane. King or Guardian. This is not your duty, young friend.”

            She breathed in gustily as she continued to stare up into unblinking grey eyes, turned silver in moonlight, “I’m a mere hobbit, we are not long lived, to our late eighties early nineties with luck. But even if I won’t live to see the fall out, as you will, milord, I have family and friends who will out live me and reap that which I left untended. I wouldn’t want a child that I’ve known and cherished to perish under something evil and sinister that I was too fearful to fight, or too timid to vanquish. I cannot knowingly leave this to fall on another.”

            The Lord froze as he searched the sad eyes staring back at him and sighed. He bowed his head and knelt in front of her in order to better sweep her into a tight embrace, “ _Take care of yourself Dúath, and return to us in one piece._ ”

            She giggled wetly, “At least pieces large enough to sew back together. Ow!”

            His scowl was unimpressed as he gestured for her to follow him back to the halls as she rubbed her curly head where he’d tapped her for her ill humored comment. When they reached the corridors once more, Bilbo sighed as she watched her friend trail down the hall away from her before pushing her negative feelings to the back of her mind and moving to follow after her errant leader.

            “That was a very impressive speech you gave, little fairy. Nothing I haven’t come to expect from our _Dúath_.” The voice’s host, like a spectre come to haunt her in her weakest hour, materialized out of the shadowy corridor right outside the alcove she’d just come from.

            “Daisy, whenever I’m sad, you’re there. Whenever I’m having problems, you’re there. Whenever my life seems out of control, you are always there. Let’s face it. You are bad luck,” she turned smiling ambers up to the incandescent blues.

            Those ambers blew wider as the eternal being knelt in front of his young interest and cupped the side of her face, “Those touched by mortality, little one, are far easier to corrupt as they desperately fight to fend it off. But nothing is so dangerous as one who believes the battle won. They languish in placidity and anything that threatens this delusion is deemed enemy.” Incandescent blue were glowing and swirling as they focused on something far far away from Rivendell, perhaps even from Arda all together she could never be sure. Her breath caught as she reached her smaller hands up to grasp the one at her left cheek in trepidation. This seemly breaking whatever trance the elf was under as he blinked slowly and turned back to her concerned gaze. A small smile graced his ageless face as he brought his forehead to the tiny creatures, “Be careful little fairy.”

            Before Bilbo could say anything in turn the doofus jumped up from his crouch, scaring another fifty years off her and hurling her ass onto the stone tile, “And to assure some level of care is taken for your well being.” A large parcel was dropped at her feet as he fled the chambers. Scowling after the dandy she shouted after him, “Yeah? Well your father smells of elderberry[19]!” Opening the parcel she found a new shimmering set of throwing knives, perfect to replace the ones she’d lost on their way here. With a wet sniffle she smiled after her chief tormentor and raced off to find her dwarrow.

 

** Day Fourteen ** ** : Escape From Elf Mountain **

 

            Dawn was cresting when she found the lot having already broken down their encampment and making their way to the hidden path that led to the edge of the Wilds beyond the Valley. Lindir was standing there beside a smaller pack that she instantly recognized, “My mother’s!”

            She raced over to the bag, seeing the tended tears and worn leather, noting the sunbleached flap where she’d once let it too long on the back porch after a long jaunt into the Wilds before Bilbo was born. Opening it she found her own clothes, a sturdy hooded cloak, as well as pieces of light weight leather armor inside that she’d bet her father’s prized tomatoe sauce recipe would fit her like a glove. And in deference to her wishes to appearingly remain anonymous everything within was of lighter coloring or, like the cloak, of the purple colors she’d adorned during her apprenticeship as a Tookling. Looking up at the steward she saw he’d been watching her with something akin to trepidation. Finding her scrutiny on himself he sniffed and looked away from the spawn of Morgoth, “She left it here during her last visit. I’ve kept it relatively safe, waiting for you to come back and claim it. It’s what she would have wanted.”

            Blinking rapidly Bilbo beamed at the shuffling nimrod as he clearly tried to maintain some level of poise, “Thank you Lindir. This means a great deal to me.”

            Lindir nodded rapidly and made to leave, stopping for a moment a foot away, “Just… be safe, Bilbo Baggins.”

            Bilbo turned back at the soft mandate and allowed her smile to soften as she stared into the fearful brown eyes, “Aw, Figwit! You _do_ care!”

            And before he could fully roll his eyes at the teasing the elf found himself with armfuls of hobbit lass. The pair separated hastily and with a final parting shot of, “Abomination” and “Tight-ass” Lindir rushed back to Imladris and Bilbo raced back to her dwarrow who’s King was growling at her once again, “Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up.” Rolling her eyes she ran up behind the King and sommersaulted over his shoudlers, cartwheeled through the ranks and would have bounced onto Dwalin’s head but for Bofur grabbing her up and keeping her tightly at his side, Bifur glaring his affronted King down from behind them.

 

[1] “Hold ranks!”

[2] Nightshade, dark shadow. Two words combined, ‘night’ and ‘shade’.

[3] Fey or Fated

[4] “Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests.”

[5] Nightingale. Daughter of Twilight

[6] Maiden, friend, in this context: daughter

[7] So, not gonna see Galadriel get the speech, but I loved it so it’s gonna be here

[8] Blatant plagiarism/edit

[9] That’s right! Reference that!

[10] Did you know that a Bilbo is a short sword? Well you do now! <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bilbo_(sword>)

[11] Cookie if you get the reference.

[12] Father

[13] Referencing every damn thing this chapter aparently

[14] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jofNR_WkoCE

[15] ‘well met’ in Sindarin

[16] ‘well met’ in Khuzdul

[17] I know exactly jackshit about chess so this is all bullshit with some very rudimentary google searching thrown in for flavor

[18] We’d name him Jiminy

[19] ALL the references!!!


	8. There May Come a Day I Die For My Secret Identity... Today Is Not That Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is just something WRONG with this Mountain Chain.

            When they stopped at the base of the Mountain Pass Bilbo had taken out her new accoutrements and been properly complimented on actually looking like she was on a life threatening adventure instead of just some half arsed walk to Breeland.

            “There ye go lass. Now when ye piss off another set o’ Trolls we won’t hafta be so worried ye’ll break yerself,” Bofur announced as he helped her with the straps in the back.

            Bifur was growling something as he finished that Glóin felt necessary to answer, “Aye! She should ‘ave somethin’ with iron in it lads. The weedeaters don’ know anythin’ abou’ these Wilds!” He wasn’t the only one less than enthralled with the leather armor as the grumbling went through the Company about it.

            Bilbo gave them all a droll look as she flexed and checked the range of motion. As anything and everything her friends had ever given her, it was perfect for her line of operations. But just to clarify as she swirled her cape over her shoulders, “Oh, aye. That’s all we need around these parts. Another clunky, flat footed fool who can alert anything with teeth of our presence three provinces over in any direction.” She turned to look at Dwalin where he was leaning against a tree watching her with a put upon glare, “Never mind your idea of proper armor weighs thrice what I do and I’d probably sink right into the soil I sprung from.”

            “And we’d thank Mahal for small favors,” the guard smirked as she stuck her tongue out at him, “Very mature lass. No wonder ye get on so well with the lads.”

            “Hey!” that was a lot of indignation as it was coming from Fíli, Kíli, Bofur, and Ori.

            Before much more could be said Bombur announced supper was on and the lot went to fill their stomachs with something that wasn’t trail rations. Their short respite in Rivendell had spoiled them, it was hard as anything going back to cram, even if they had hated the greenery the fungus pinchers insisted go with every meal.

***

            The next morning found Bilbo being pulled from her bedroll and placed on her feet without so much as a by your leave. She blinked sleepily as Bofur pushed her forward and Bifur growled after the surly King who’d apparently decided breakfast was a meal they need not engage in. Blinking again she turned to her cheerful miner, “Didn’t Gandalf tell us to wait for him?”

            “Yep!”

            “So we’re not doing that?”

            “Nope!”

            “And who thought this was a good idea?”

            “Take a guess lovey.”

            She blinked once more and then groaned as she stomped over to Bifur. Ten seconds of the big eyed pouting and she was contentedly collapsed across his back as they continued to follow their errant leader. She really didn’t feel like being conscious for this next batch of foolhardiness, thank you kindly.

***

            The sun was shining high overhead when Bilbo woke from her nap. She’d managed to dissuade Bifur from unseating her for another few miles by being playfully grumbly but even his caring for her had its limits. Fortunate, perhaps, as it was from her vantage point of the dusty ground she noticed the first signs of footsteps on the track they found themselves on. It seemed peoples had passed by this outstretch not long before they had. Seemed a fair number at that, and sensibly sized too, if the prints spoke true. Though elves could sometime step softly and hide themselves entirely, Men didn’t and these were much too small to belong to anything so tall. It was something she kept in her mind as she ran off to catch up to her friends.

            The sun had traveled further over the horizon by the time they found more tracks… quite a number more as previous as a matter of fact. And if she looked carefully enough, it seemed something a sight smaller was deposited to the ground before racing after the larger group. Looking about the way she saw a boulder she thought would be rather good for taking a flying leap onto Dwalin’s head should she be so inclined. She thought better of it as they hadn’t yet eaten lunch and the old dwarrow could be rather grumpy before a meal.

            The sun was making a valiant attempt at staying above the horizon when, “DEATH FROM ABOVE!”

            Dwalin’s roar was met with bawls of laughter from the Durin twins and an incredulous stare from his King. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to dethrone the clinging creature and she didn’t even have the decency to tumble to the floor but gracefully somersaulted over his head and offered him a deep bow before smiling up at him with her cheeky half dimpled grin. “THE ‘ELL’S WRONG WITH YE!?”

            “When opportunity knocks one must take it my good sir. And I couldn’t let a chance like that slip by twice in one lifetime!” Bilbo pronounced saucily as she rocked back and forth on her heals.

            Before Dwalin could more than growl at the menace Balin hung his head and groaned, “How long have we been going in circles lass?”

            The confusion that permeated the group was palpable but quickly remedied as Bilbo shrugged, “I can’t be sure how many times we’ve passed by this spot seeing as I only just woke up two cycles ago. But based on the tracks I’ve been counting I’d say this is our fourth or fifth circuit.”

            The company as one looked up and to their great leader.

            Thorin glared at all of them before swooshing around and continuing on his very determined way.

            Balin came up behind the lass and patted her on the shoulder as he passed, “Don’t worry, lass, we’ll see to it.” Then he and Dwalin took off after their tragedy of a King. With a quirk of her eyebrow Bilbo signaled to Bombur and by the time the Company had made one last circuit around the path she and the rotund dwarrow had a nice steaming pot of stew waiting for them at their all too familiar campsite. Bilbo was just happy Thorin couldn’t actually turn her to stone with his gaze. She didn’t think she’d make a very appealing statuette for these parts. Maybe in the Grey Mountains but no’ this cursed chain.

***

            “What are you doing now lass?”

            “Well, now, we hobbits aren’t known for our traveling prowess, as you well know by now Master Dwalin.”

            “Aye, an’ orcs sing like the Valar. Get on with it.”

            “Well, we’re not known for our traveling abilities. But I’d reckon there isn’t a faunt in the entire Shire that doesn’t know the sun sets in the west and rises in the east. Am I right in saying this is true among dwarrow?”

            “Aye…”

            “Well, Dwalin, tell me if I’m wrong now, but didn’t you tell me at one point we were traveling towards a southeasterly crossing point on the Mountain range?”

            “…Aye…”

            “Well, Master Dwalin, we’ve either entered a different realm entirely, where the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, or we’ve been marching in a northerly direction for the better part of the past hour.”

            “… … … Aye,” the guard grumbled some more under his breath as he left the daft hobbit to her smug ways to drag his addle brained King towards their actual path. The arguing that resulted was very loud and very grumbly. That’s all she knew for sure as Bifur refused to translate half the conversation.

***

            …What in Yavanna’s blessed mercy…She’d given herself over to the fact that these Mountains were bleeding cursed but really?! “PUT IT BACK! Put it back right this instant! Before it’s mother – do you even know what that is!?”

            The twin looks of bewilderment she was thrown gave her the answer as she hissed her frustration with the, apparently, suicidal Durin lads. Honestly, as though the dragon wasn’t bad enough. Now they were trying to make pets of…of…

            “His name’s Frëd! Isn’t he adorable!” Kíli’s eyes were entirely to fond as he knelt down to be eye level with the creature. It, for all she knew it didn’t even have a sex, never mind was actually male, instantly rolled over onto its winged back to expose a fluffy white belly for rubs. Which both Durin lads gave with great enthusiasm, causing one of the hind legs to shake and the… scorpion tail to wag.

            Was her eye twitching? It felt like it was twitching. Apparently she’d been preoccupied with the wrong Durin. While Thorin was going to walk them off a cliff with his regal route the younger set had been plotting to kill them all direct. She raced forward and slapped the pair’s hands away. She then waged her finger in the time honored Baggins tradition of scolding, “No! Bad Kíli! Bad Fíli! We are not naming it! It is not coming with us! You only name things you’re going to become attached to, like babies and sprouts! This is going back where it came from!”

            “But he won’t be any trouble!”

            “We’ll feed him!”

            “Bathe him!”

            “We’ll take great care of him!”

            “He’d love the Mountain!”

            “We found him in a cave! He’ll love living in Erebor!”

            “It’s entirely made of caves.”

            “PLEASE!?!”

            She just glared at the lads where they crouched clutching the beast, eyes big and beseeching. Her eye was definitely twitching. It was probably indicative of the brain damage she’d received before coming on this fucking quest in the first place. Just because she couldn’t remember the fall doesn’t mean she didn’t cause herself irreparable harm. Turning a baleful look on the fuzzy, winged, horned, fanged nuisance (and oh dear Eru were there fangs!) Bilbo had a moment of deep contemplation as she picked the creature up, holding it at arms length, and began to walk off back the way the lads had come, completely ignoring their whining or the creature’s attempts to lick at her face as she went. Probably trying to taste the snack, “Why is it never a ferret?!”

***

            “Dwalin…”

            “Hush.”

            “Dwaaaliiin”

            “Not another word!”

            “We’re going north again Dwalin.”

            “…”

            “You knew that already.”

            “…”

            “He won’t listen to you will he?”

            “…”

            “Dwalin.”

            “…”

            “Dwalin, we’re going to end up in the Grey Mountains. I don’t think you lot are going to be over fond of the pets they keep in those Mountains.”

            “How’d you know what they keep in the North? I thought you hobbits didn’t travel outside your hills?”

            “Is this really the time to be asking about my peculiarities? Aren’t we on a deadline?”

            “Fine! THORIN FOR MAHALS SAKE!”

***

            Night was swiftly approaching them on their eighth day in the mountains. Three days having been lost to their Northerly affliction and one to their circular dance the first day. Honestly, the mountains were cursed but they didn’t take more than a week or two to pass. Not unless you were apparently Thorin Oakenshield. So yeah, night was falling on the eighth day of their journeying. Not that any of the Company would know for sure as the light had been blocked for the better part of three hours now.

            “I spy with my special eyes something wet!”

            “Halfling!”

            “Right you are Master Glóin! It’s the rain!”

            The Firebeard grumbled something in their rock language as she continued to prance about beside him, purple hood damn near black as it was saturated with water. She’d been banned from talking to Dwalin or Balin by Royal decree and the princelings were still pouty about her taking away their new friend. So she’d have to make due with the rest of the Durin clan.

            “Did you know bees can’t fly in the rain? Drops the size of their tiny selves drown on the way down.”

            “Can Hobbits fly?” the firebeard asked seemingly out of nowhere as he glanced at the ledge the prancing pip had been flirting with since the rain’d began.

            “Well that depends on the hobbit in question. If you ask my dear cousin [Fortinbras](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9128218) we are limited only by that which we allow to do so. Of course, he also enjoys Goblin Poetry so make with that what you will.”

            “I’mma send you over the ledge Halfling.”

            “I’d like to see yo– HEY!” Bifur growled at the flailing cretin as he picked her up like a sack of flour and marched her up to his cousins before the accountant turned warrior could make good on his threats. The thing with Firebeards is their words were never idle and regardless of what her cousin may believe the Urs weren’t looking to find out how not aerially inclined the lass was.

***

            “SO WE’RE NOT STOPPING WHY?”

            “WHAT?!”

            “WHY AREN’T WE WAITING THIS OUT?!”

            “WHAT?!”

            “BASTARD SONS OF MALKOR SAY WHAT!”

            “WHAT?!”

            Bilbo didn’t have the energy to find Dwalin’s clear consternation funny. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t exploit it. As it were it was the only thing keeping his King safe from her wrath because, true to dwarfish fashion, rather than be sensible and pull over somewhere to wait out the bleedin’ thunder storm they continued to march on this terrifyingly high and narrow precipice. She was completely convinced the addled bastard forgot there were people following him. With a sigh she slipped again and only managed to stay on the path when the Guard nabbed her from the back. “I miss my boots,” she grumbled as she regained her footing and moved forward.

            “NO, I DONNA THINK THIS IS A HOOT! THE 'ELL'S WRONG WIT YE?!”

            She was seriously thinking of throwing herself off to end her misery. He then pushed her forward and Bofur grabbed her hand, directing it to his belt in a sad attempt to keep the wee one steady. Giving Bofur the happy task of catching her as she stumbled in the next second. He held the hobbit’s arm firmly as he pulled her in, looking at the sheer fear and grit in those luminescent amber eyes before something went soaring and crashing above their head. “Watch out!” Dwalin’s roar reverberated down the line as he grabbed the Halfling away from the miner and curled her under his larger mass, letting the rubble from the boulder bounce off his back. Turning around the pair looked about for the source of the trouble.

            It was a shame, that, as in the next moment the ground itself began to shake and they could have gone their whole lives without seeing the nightmare coming to life in their limited field of vision. Bilbo’s eyes grew larger than her head was actually meant to support as she watched the mountain itself shake and move, sitting upright and moving to a standing position, “Dear Lady Above, what have I done to deserve this?” Or better still, what had Arda done to deserve such a cursed Mountain Chain.

            “This is no thunderstorm; it’s a thunder battle!” Balin shouted as he fell back to the stone behind him as the troupe realized the creature that had just come to life in their front was actually moving to engage the one that had just turned the corner they’d been working their way around. His voice tinged in something akin to awe and terror all the same time as they watched the mountain made mobile lifted another boulder from the stone and made to throw it at the new contender.

            “Well bless me, the legends are true. Giants; Stone Giants!” Bofur yelped as he straightened and watched, transfixed, as the projectile flew over their heads. Bilbo reached forward as it crashed and dragged her uncle back to the wall.

            Thorin, leading the way shouted to the rest as he searched down the line, eyes lingering on his nephews, “Take cover: you’ll fall!” The larger of the dwarrow began grabbing the younger and smaller, Dwalin practically lifting Bilbo and dragged Ori forward as he tried to frog march them somewhere safe, Fíli doing the same with Kíli.

            Before they made more than two steps forward the ground beneath shook and Bilbo’s heart stopped as Dwalin anchored her into the wall. She grasped his arm and Bofur’s hand in a subconscious bid for comfort as the ledge they were climbing rumbled and moved.

            “Fíli! Grab my hand! FÍ!!!” Kíli’s call for his lost brother would haunt Bilbo’s nightmare’s later when she wasn’t contending with an adrenaline spike of her own as she watched the split form and separate the Company from each other.

            Heart pumping at such a rate it was just a shock of pain and breathlessness, mind white washed in terror, Bilbo felt the stray thought of what an ants life must be as the creature of wrath and stone tried to stand, revealing them to be on its knees. In the next moment she found herself hysterically thinking it was a shame it also had no battle sense, as it was head butted to the ground once more before even gaining its feet. And then nothing but the scrambling and screaming attempts to not fall to her doom took up the rest of her existence as the thing rallied and started to engage the rather lowbrow attacker. Really, at least have the decency to wait for your opponent to be properly on their feet before an attack.

            As the two giants fought fisticuffs the third came out of no where and laid a sucker punch to the one and sent the lost troop swooping, they past the rest of the Company who’d managed to scramble off the thing and to relative safety. And by relative we are straining the meaning of that word to within inches of its intended purpose. At least their bit of water and slick wasn’t moving.

            In the next moment they were faced with the fact their Giant had lost and was falling to the stone, the mountain coming up to meet them, pinning them between the Giant and the stone ahead. The last thing they were like to hear being the roars of “NO!” coming from their loved ones down the way from where they’d be smeared across Arda.

            The Giant fell away into the gorge as the rest watched. Nothing but boulders and dust falling after it. Nothing... Thorin felt the air choke from his lungs as he raced through the rain and over the rock screaming, “FÍLI!” as the rest of the survivors followed. As they rounded the bend they found a pile of breathless dwarrow on the ground focused entirely on breathing. Shame that as Bilbo would have loved to see the small relieved smile on Thorin’s face as he went forward and grasped his nephew up and to him, joined seconds later by Kíli. Bifur was helping Bombur to his feet when Bofur turned this way and that and demanded, “Where’s Bilbo?”

            Before anything more than a second of terror could drip through the souls and bellies of a select few dwarrow a blur of blatantly soaked wool seemed to fly up to their level. The dwarrow were better suited to grip and jump with their boots on these rain soaked rocks. The hobbit lass’s clear disadvantage had caused her to loose quite a bit of traction as they leaped to safety, thus she didn’t quite make it. Training was very helpful, though, as without a thought she’d unsheathed her elvish daggers and dug them into the stone, sliding to a grinding halt. Shifting she used them as leverage and in moments found a foot rest that allowed her to hook and thrust up back onto the ledge in a battle crouch, hood low and blades ready.

            It was as she was straightening from her crouch she finally realized her hood had fallen over her face in a way very reminiscent of her previous incarnation. Sadly, it didn’t take everyone that long to see the resemblance, “Mahal it’s you!”

            If she’d had energy the look on Dwalin’s face would have sent her laughing right off the edge again but as it were she was thoroughly exhausted and none too pleased with the days proceedings. So instead she did as proper a bow as she could muster (after all, [Rule 9](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9183889), it was all in the presentation) and snarked back at the Guard, “Nightshade at your service, whether you wish it or no.” She was then bombarded from all sides by her miners and rushed into a dank, dark, dirty cavern that couldn’t have looked more like paradise on Arda if it had a fireplace roaring and throw pillows.

 


	9. Escape From Awkward Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Misty Mountains, not you usual theme park, though there are rides galore and the cast members are literally biting at the bit to helpfully move you along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HATE this chapter. I'm sorry. This took so long because I hate it. I like the reveal, some of that's funny. I enjoy the Gollum part, at least pieces, but this was a piece of going nowhere quick and probably should have just been edited out. I'm a stubborn ass though and wished to be as glued to the book chapters as possible so we all get to suffer.

            “What in the name of Mahal is going on? You _know_ her?” Thorin demanded as Dwalin took a breath from the incoherent rock language babbling he’d been roaring into their sanctuary. Bilbo had been ensconced behind a wall of Broadbeam. Bofur and Bombur stood at her front, blocking anyone and everyone else from her, Bofur with his mattock at the ready and Bombur with his heavy ladle. If Bilbo had been able to see their faces she’d have likened them to a set of waterlogged badgers she’d been set upon once ages ago, both dripping wet and spiting angry as their hair bristled every which direction making them look just as much sad as vicious. Bifur was growling at her back keeping a tight grip on her arm ready to do who the fuck knew what because she wasn’t going back out there no matter how iffy things became inside. She’d sooner be crushed below Dwalin’s knuckledusters than continue the lively game of paddy-cake with the monstrous titans out yonder.

            His King’s incredulous yowl caused the guardsman to take a breath before bellowing, “It’s the piece of nonsense that used te plague the Mountains! The damned shady dwarr- YOU WEREN’T EVEN A DWARF!” and off he was again. Apparently not being a dwarf was making her time in the Blue Mountains a national security issue.

            Dwalin continued to rage but she suddenly found herself under the scrutiny of a very stern dwarrow stare as a very brave graybeard pushed his way past Bombur to reach her. She returned Óin’s watery blue-eyed stare for watery amber eyed stare till she couldn’t take it anymore and blinked. At which point she found herself on her arse with the bleedin’ codger’s fingers running down her sides, “Now breathe an’ don’t half arse it, I’ll know and you’ll have to do it again.” Glaring she inhaled and flinched just a touch at the strain to her ribs. “Hmm, as I thought. Ye bashed yerself good and proper on that cliff face. Right, off with the leathers and the tunic, keep the undershirt, we’ll wrap ye up for the time bein’. Iffn’ it’s still sore in the morn we’ll take a closer look in the light.”

            “Oh aye, make it easier fur the thing ta slit all our necks an’ scamper off into the bleedin’ night!” the guard growled not unlike the dog she used to compare him too. Actually… the mangy bastard was deteriorating quite nicely into something rabid and fiendish right before her eyes.

            Óin, charming half deaf bastard that he was, chose to respond as he was helping her remove her tunic, “Only one she’s like te bleed is ye, if ye keep up yer bleatin’. I’m half tempted meself.”

            In the next instant, she was sure she’d have married Glóin if he hadn’t been taken already, “What the bleedin’ ‘ell are ye all on about?!” he bellowed into the din making people stop and realign their thoughts.

            Dwalin growled out, “She’s a crook!”

            Glóin’s eyes couldn’t get any larger as he did a double take between her and Dwalin before pointing at Nori where he’d been standing in the corner his brothers had been shoved into when Dwalin stormed into the cavern behind the burglar and her Broadbeam wall and roaring, “So’s he, it ain’t stopped ye from havin’ him about!”

            “Oye! I’m not a crook. I’m a professional,” she flinched as she said it, Óin’s bandages bein’ this side of too bleedin’ tight (I mean HELLO, she still needed to breathe thank ye kindly), completely ignoring how Dwalin’s head turned a rather becoming shade of brick.

            “Mahal take me,” Thorin muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose as his Guard, previously the girl’s key defender started rampaging against her very existence once more. Turning a look to the girl turned woman, now replacing her tunic, the miners placing her leathers in their satchels for safe keeping, that had driven his men up multiple walls and over a few he sighed, “I suppose the upside to this is I’ve no longer any reason not to trust you.”

            Bilbo blinked at that for a good minute before Dwalin registered the comment and growled, “Are ye bleedin’ mad!? She and the gamy wizard’s been in on this from the start!”

            “Well, we knew the damned wizard was lying about something. This is significantly less dire than what we’d been anticipating!” Thorin shouted back in exasperation.

            His twin nephews popped up at either side of him, the blonde one going first as was his right as the heir apparent, “Aye, this is something actually useful.”       

            “A thief who fooled everyone for years she was a dwarrowdam.”

            “Who spent most of her time in the Blue Mountains running the Guard ragged.”

            “Sneaks in and out of places without being detected.”

            “Explains a lot actually.”

            “How easy she fits in.”

            “How she knows ingleshmêk.”

            “Why Bifur keeps braiding her hair.”

            “Why Nori keeps watching her.”

            “Sounds like a boon to me,” the last was Thorin agreeing with his nephews as the three stood back nodding at each other.

            Bilbo just stood there in shock before shaking her head and declaring, “There it is! This _entire_ time I didn’t see it but there it is. The family resemblance.”

            “Aye, barmier than bat shit the three of ‘em,” Dwalin grumbled into his beard where he stood next to her. Then he caught himself agreeing with the scamp and pointed an accusatory finger at the elfish thing, “I’m still cross at you!”

            “Psh, no you’re not,” Bilbo snorted as she slapped the finger away. She smiled that dimpled smile of hers and rocked back and forth on her heals, “Come on Dwalin. You know you’re happy to see me, alive and whole and on your side for once.”

            The cheeky bitch was right but the Guard wasn’t ready to let her know that yet so he grabbed her face in one hand, pushed her backwards and rumbled off to a corner to sulk.

            Bilbo fumbled a bit at the treatment and found solid hands wrap around her arms just before she fell on her ass. Turning her face up she found a pair of mercurial eyes staring down at her with an expression she had never seen before, and considering their long illicit affair with each other, that was a feat indeed.

            Before either could muster a sentence together, Dori came forward and glared at his brother, as he demanded to know, “You knew about this then? Was this all part of some half-brained scheme you cooked up? You and your insidious little _friend_?!”

            Bilbo had been called many things in her life but never something so vile as _friend_ , however it was being implied this night. So, before Nori could work through the red of his obvious discontent she’d snapped back at the elder brother, “The only half cocked bastard who knew about me was Gandalf! The rest of you were just collateral.”

            “And what were you to do then? Take off with both my brothers?”

            “What?!”

            “ **What?!** ” ooh the Urs were seethin’ at that. Bifur was growlin’, though it was anyone’s guess if it was at the red head or his silvered brother. Bombur, being the practical one merely pushed the lad out of the way and yanked their Trouble back into the fold where Bofur could better keep an eye on her and his mattock on the rest.

            “Dori!” Really, she hoped Ori wasn’t catching a fever the red color he’d just turned.

            “I’ll not have any of it. Since she’s been here you’ve been following her about like a lovesick pup and now the other one’s holdin’ her like she’s the bleedin’ Arkenstone!”

            It was quick; one moment she was standing in the middle of the most _awkward_ conversation she’d _ever_ had the privilege, damn near _begging_ the earth to open up and swallow her whole, and the next mo’ it did just that. She managed a single thread of thought as she fell, before she hit the first ledges of biting and bruising rock, that the universe and its queer sense of humor could go bugger its self. 

            As often as Bilbo would make grand statements about the cursed nature of the Misty Mountain chain, she never really believed it. Then it literally tried to eat her with it’s blunt teeth of stone and boulder, her leathers doing nothing to keep the rock from cutting and stabbing at her recently bandaged middle seeing they were in the Ur’s packs. When she would have time later to breath and think she’d firmly place her sentiments on the Mountain from idle talk to full blown belief.

            She came to a plopping stop on a groaning mass, her hair flown this way and that over her head, her eyes blurry with pain and her mind firmly made up on Arda’s insanely unfunny sense of irony. Blinking slowly and painfully she lifted herself onto her forearms and stared down into yellow tinged hazel eyes as Nori grabbed at his head below her. Sighing she plopped her head tiredly onto his chest and groaned, “We need to stop meeting like this.”

            “What, getting tired of winding me?” Nori huffed as his arms came up of their own volition and wrapped around plump hips. He’d blame it on the numerous knocks to the head he’d sustained. Obviously, he wasn’t in his full faculties, as he was still blatantly pissed at the piece. Just because his heart damn near plummeted off the cliff with her hours ago and his hands were itching to plunge into her hair didn’t change a thing. She’d still lied to him, and then left him, and then lied to him again, and if he gave her half a chance she’d probably leave again… Maybe he should keep his mitts right where they were so she _couldn’t_ sneak off on them…

            A soft huff derailed his thoughts as black curls were swept back and away to be replaced by pain dimmed amber and a tight smirk. The irreverent maw opened to retort and a horn blast sounded. Wait… no “Mahal damn us all.” Turning the dwarf saw the swarm barely a moment before it was upon him and his. With cackling enthusiasm their beastly little captors threw themselves on the dwarrow Company and began stripping them of their weapons and gear. Before anyone could attempt to defend themselves they found tens of creepy scaly hands crawling over them and thrusting them forward and away from their families.

            “BILBO!” Bofur’s yelp was cut short as he was smacked in the head with his own mattock and stumbled into his brother’s arms.

            It was that moment of inattention, accompanied with the head injury, no doubt, that saw the hobbit looking up sharply, body completely pliable as an over eager goblin raced towards the lass and plowed the pair into a tumble. Nori was lifted as he cursed at the rolling combatants and was shoving his way away from the grasping hands just in time for his breath to leave him and his stomach to plummet with the hobbit and her captor.

            Rule 33: Watch Your Surroundings.

***

            How was this her life? Really? _How_ was this cursed Mountain chain so _rampant_ with misfits and mayhem? The Valar were guilty of the most disgraceful negligence by not crumbling the damned things to the ground! If Bilbo was being charitable she may have noted that her attempt to beseech the Valar for “any fuckin’ wee bit o’ help” upon waking in a pit that seemed to made of all things dark dank and dirty was less than specific. Sadly, the heavily concussed hobbit was feeling any and everything but charitable and couldn’t see how even the most deranged mind would think the monster that had answered her prayers would qualify.

            She watched in mild trepidation as the creature she’d decided to engage in a battle of wits rampaged about their little stony alcove a moment before calming from his previous loss and glaring at her a moment before turning big bulbous blue eyes and an eager smile at her, “It’s ours turn now. Tells us! Tells us!” It practically shook where it crouched waiting gleefully for the continuation of their devilish game.

            If the thing didn’t seem hell-bent on _eating_ her she’d have been inclined to call it childlike. But one did not ignore such a _large_ character failing. With a world weary sigh, the thief looked the creature square and smiled a bit, ignoring the sticky trail the blood from her temple was leaving as it dripped into the water at her feet, “As I was walking down to Bree I met a man with seven daughters he. Each daughter had seven sacks, in each sack were seven cats, each cat had seven kittens. Kittens, cats, sacks and daughters he, how many were on their way to Bree?”

            There was a count of three before the big bulbous eyes shut tight and rail thin arms came up to slam back into the water as the creature wailed, “Not Maths precious! Not maths! What a mean wicked creatures is this Bagginses!”

            Child-like… if the child was a demon, “Does that mean you give up? Can we go now? Only I have people to save, dragons to slay, you know how it is.”

            The creature grumbled to itself (and wasn’t _that_ fun. Even Bilbo didn’t actually _answer_ herself when she talked to herself) before falling onto its scantily clad bony butt and counting his hands and feet. He’d made it to 16 for the third time and, tongue sticking out, was about to move onto 17 when his eyes got somehow WIDER and he cackled into the dark and began jumping, “Ohs, it’s a tricks precious! A tricks! It’s none of them going but the man!”

            Bilbo’s legs trembled as she sighed and looked a the gleeful nasty, “Well done lad, seems maths aren’t all that bad then are they?” She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad but she wasn’t feeling the cold of the cavern and water the way she’d been feeling it a moment ago, but she could definitely use a nap.

            She yawned as the creature celebrated and settled again into its other rather charming persona, “Ahh. We have one for you: All things it devours, birds, beasts, trees, flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stones to meal. Answer us.”

            Blinking her vision blurred a moment as she registered the echoing quality of the voice and panic had her heart fluttering as she spun around looking for the sneaky shit. He’d been right there! “What? Wait, where…”

            “Is it tasty? Is it scrumptious? Is it crunchable?”

            She decided against noting that crunchable wasn’t a word and swallowed, “Give me a moment! I gave you a good long while after all… Lets see, lets… lets see…”

            Bilbo takes a step back, looking to lean against the wall when it pounces from above, aiming for her throat, growling, “Crunchable!” only to fall away as she raises her blade once more and moves away from the creature and demanding, voice waver, “Let me think! Let me think.”

            Her breathing was rapid as she kept a firm eye on the triumphant smirk on the demon, keeping step with him as he stalked her, “It’s stuck. Bagginses is stuck.”

            Yellow eyes blown wide race across the room, always turning back to the crouched beast in time to watch him step closer or reverse their dancing movements. Her heel hits water, and she stumbles a bit as she feels the loss of their purchase. She’s hit the edge of the lake’s shoulder. Gasping she turned back as she regained her feet to see the creature crouching to pounce, “Time’s up.”

            “Ti-Ti-Time! The answer’s TIME!” disbelief colored her voice as she blinked, “Huh, that wasn’t that hard actually.”

            Growling in displeasure the creature continued to lay in wait, “Last question. Last chance.”

            “Um,” Bilbo blinked as the world swam a moment. Reaching up she wiped at her eyes and her hand came away stained red, turning back she found the beast licking his lips watching her hand.

            “Ask us. ASK US!” the duality of his voice was shocking and Bilbo wasn’t altogether sure it was her concussion making her hear things as she quickly hid her bloodied hand in her pocket.

            “What,” brow crinkling she felt the something heavy and cold in her pocket. It was chilled even more so than herself and that braced her as she queried under her breath, “What do I have in my pocket?”

            She barely missed the disgust and anger war with themselves on the creature’s face as it howled at her, “That’s not fair. It’s not fair! It’s against the rules!” the thing picked up a rock showing the true strength in those spindle like arms and chucked it across the clearing passed the confused hobbit causing her to jump and, it was a yell because Professionals don’t squeak thank you very much! “Ask us another one.”

            Breathing rapidly, blinking fast and shaking the cobwebs from her head Bilbo growled as she scurried around the edge and towards a safer part of the embankment, “You said ‘Ask me a question.’ Well, that is my question. What have I got in my pocket?” she was through with these games. If it didn’t end soon she’d end it herself. Getting lost was better than continuing to be the mouse in this unholy game.

            Tantrum having taken it quite a ways away from its meal the creature stalked closer to her once more, growling as she moved to keep a sturdy looking rock between them, “Three guesses, Precious. It must give us three.” It held up two stubs to emphasize its demand.

            Face blank, voice blanker, “Of, course. Three. One, three, guesses. Guess away Master Riddler.”

            The demon glowered at her as it continued its stalking motions, “Handses!” the shout was triumphant as it smirked at the hobbit.

            Who continued to stare at it blankly over her sword, which she had both hands firmly wrapped around the hilt, “Wrong, guess again.”

            Looking down it counted all three of her hands and grumbled as it stopped coming closer in order to think its deep thoughts. “Fish-bones, goblins’ teeth, wet shells, bat’s wings…” As it mutters Bilbo takes advantage of the distraction to turn her suddenly much sharper eyes around the cavern taking in the potential exits and the possible outlets. Straining her ears she tries to sense anything that would help her find the exit. Dripping from bats and water, fluttering of winged creatures above and to the very far left of the cavern… maybe.

            It takes everything in her to not fall backwards as the demon screams at her, finally, Knife!” then promptly hits itself in the face and roars “Oh, shut up!”

            Side stepping the agreement she announces softly, “Wrong again. Last guess.”

            “String!” wide hopeful eyes, almost smiling in the glee of the game.

            “Or nothing,” scowling, possessed eyes glare as tempered rage watches her movements.

            She shivers a bit as she feels her muscles tense, ready, “Two guesses at once; wrong both times.”

            The big eyes widen and tears fill them as it falls to the ground, a straight mess of yowling defeat. Suddenly Bilbo is moved by something she is _sure_ is the same evil malevolence that keeps the Valar from smiting these cursed mountains to feel pity for the sad little mite. Sighing and groaning she begrudgingly cringes as she announces, “Come now, it’s not all bad! We had a good time of it and ye got most of them. Almost had me with that last one even! So, come then, I won the game, you promised to show me the way out, remember? Ill teach some more as we make our way to the exit then, what say you?”

            She took a tentative step closer seeing those sad big eyes looking up at her from the prone body. It sniffled as it looked up at the hobbit “Did we say so, Precious? Did we say so?”

            Before she could say anything in answer Bilbo felt a chill as the creature’s eyes slowly turned vicious and hate filled “What has it got in its pocketses?”

            She had her sword pointing at the caved in chest in an instant, ice in her voice as she glared back, “That’s no concern of yours. You lost.”

            The creature grins slowly as it repeats her word in the still air “Lost? Lost? Lost?” taking a step closer for every utterance. She watches, prepared for the attack as he reaches towards its side for something. Sudden shock blows those demented eyes wide and the things hands are groping all over it and around it. Bilbo had nearly forgotten what panic not her own sounded like as the creature gasped, “Where is it? Where is it? No! Ahh! Where is it? No! No!!!” The creature begins to dart around their alcove tossing rocks and skulls and bones about in its search.

            It scuttles back into the clearing and thrashes more rocks about till finally stopping at the waters edge, looking into it sadly before breaking down and punching the water as it cries, “Lost! Curses and splashes, my precious is lost!” Energy depleting it sobs quietly as it rocks itself and stares into the lake. As they quiet its face shifts, slowly, sadness draining and anger seeping in. large eyes squint as a large nearly toothless mouth snarls, “What has it got in its nasty little pocketses?” its head snapping back around to the hobbit so fast it should surely have broken.

            In the next instant the eyes widen again a it takes up an unholy screech, bony fingers pointing towards the quickly disappearing hobbit as Bilbo raced along the edge of the cavern towards one of the offshoots farthest to the right, “It stole it. It stole it! Ahh! IT STOLE IT!” the demon gave chase immediately, gaining on her quickly as she raced through the dark, stopping only to try and pinpoint caverns that seemed to give way to an incline. The chase wasn’t long as she found her stone sense less than stellar and ended up in a cavern that led nowhere, though there were fissures here and there that may lead out… or could essentially trap her forevermore.

            Hearing the slapping of hands and bare feet closing in she held her breath and felt the stone scraping her raw through her clothes as she squirmed into the small fissure furthest from the entrance. With all the missed meals and time on the road you’d think she’d have slimmed away to nothing, and though there were certainly moments of vanity driven _panic_ when she’d be cinching her belt tighter and tighter, she still had a fair amount of her belly about her person. Though she’d probably left whatever she had had to spare splattered across the cavern walls at this point. But that was neither here nor there; she fell forward into an alcove just as the creature screeched behind her, “Precious!”

            Breathing a little shallow she looked about the new room and found it too dead-ended. As this seemed par for the course she did what any good Took would do. She danced up the wall and lay there clinging like a limpet, waiting for the time to strike. That _thing_ barreled into the space, panting and crying and screaming. Talking to itself and then froze. For a moment of gut wrenching terror she actually thought it had her. She froze, eyes wide, ready to engage, only to let out a gasping sob a moment later as it bounced out and into the original cave, muttering about her escaping. Falling back to the ground she gave herself a single moment before sprinting after the beast, hanging on shadow and walls as it led her through caverns and halls. She would _never_ forget the cries of the thing as long as she lived. They were gut wrenching in the same way howls in the winter were soul shaking.

***

            “Five, six, seven, eight...Bifur, Bofur...that’s ten...Fili, Kili...that’s twelve...and Bombur - that makes thirteen. Where’s Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit? Where is our hobbit?!” Gandalf demanded as a fear he received solely for the miscreant Took began to creep up his spine.

            “She must still be in the Mountain,” Thorin announced as he turned to look back at the maze they just barely escaped from.

            “Well, what are ye waitin’ fur? An invitation?!” Bofur growled as he hefted his mattock and moved towards the bedeviled thing. He’d never thought he’d be so glad to be _out_ from under a mountain but there ye go. The lass was right, the bleedin’ things were cursed.

            When a hand grabbed him and stopped his forward process he just about ripped the thing ff before realizing it was the lassies thief holdin’ ‘im back.

            “She fell,” Nori’s eyes were dark, his face slack as he said it. Jaws clenched as he turned to Bifur when the elder growled something at him. “When they caught us. She went tumblin’ into the abyss.”

            It was like someone had dimmed the colors of everything around him as what the red head said crashed into his brain. His mattock fell from his cold hands and he stared at the brown black eyes as they held his own. He was vaguely aware of noises around them as the others reacted to the news. Ori wrestled away from his brother’s tender care and punched a hole in a tree, the young Durins came to hold him back, both smiling boys grim as they did so. Gandalf had closed his eyes to the news, as though to make it untrue. Dwalin had laid is axes into the ground and was glaring at it as his King came up to clamp his shoulder. Glóin was trying to quietly explain to his brother what was going on. Bombur was being consoled by Bifur who was also tearing as he watched Bofur concerned at the stillness that had infused the cheerful prospector. As it was, there was only one dwarf unoccupied and still looking towards the Mountain when Trouble came running for them.

            “The next time you pop in asking me to ‘come on an adventure’ I’m going to remind you of _this_ moment and demand you rethink your request.” And suddenly their hobbit was once again there, grousing as she pushed her way through, smiling at her oldest friend. The wizard, for his part, had opened his eyes at the sound of her voice, and his own grin was brighter than it had been since before they left Bagend as he gazed upon the mostly intact hobbit.

            Turning to the surprisingly large smile on Balin’s face Bilbo asked with a small smirk, “Still have my contract?”

            And then the lass was damn near torn from the ground, “BILBO!” by the over exuberant Kíli, followed by his just as eager brother.

            As Fíli reached over to squeeze the breath out of the hobbit she yelped and began clawing the blonde menace, “ _Damnit lad_! What are you _carrying_?! An armory!” she collapsed to the underbrush and scowled at the lad where he stood smiling exuberantly, barely allowing a fleeting look of recalcitrance to flit about his face before patting his chest and nodding, “A son of Durin should always be prepared.”

            “You were a hedgepig in another life,” Bilbo grumbled as she found herself lifted and grasped up into a tight familiar hold, Bofur running concerned hands down her back and arms, “Bofur! I’m fi-” before she could finish her statement she was grasped against a strong chest as the toy-maker wrapped himself around her once more. She felt the small tremors make their way into her as he rocked the pair of them slightly and just breathed. Bilbo allowed herself a moment wrapping her arms around the miner’s waist as she sniffled into the tobacco and mineral scented dwarf, ignoring the less pleasant smells of dark places and dead goblin as she nodded, “Just peaches.”

            The soft huff of air was less a laugh than she’d like but she’d take it. She opened her eyes when she felt hands in her curls to see Bifur softly placing his forehead to her own, careful of the wounds on both their skulls. And in the next instant she and Bofur were being lifted into the ridiculously strong embrace of a crying Ori, “DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!”

            Bofur’s laugh this time was honest and deeply felt as he released the lass and dropped back to the ground, allowing the younger to carry the squawking hobbit off, away from the young princes who were looking to have another hug, screaming at the pair she was his hobbit and they could damned well get their own. It was as started running with her screaming ‘MINE’ that Bofur turned looking for the middle Ri and found him leaning against the tree his brother had savaged, eyes pointing towards the wee Trouble as though she were True North and he a compass needle.

He was about to make his way to the lad when the howling reached them. Part of it was Bilbo where she’d been dropped on her head by the lads when they’d heard the initial warg calls.  From her wounded and dusty position Bilbo heard the rejoinder of the first howl and sighed as she rose shakily to her feet, “Oh look, more Nope is coming for a visit.” She then grabbed the Durin lads by the sleeves, Ori, being a smart lad, followed on his own, and took off at speeds only terror can induce.

 


End file.
